Time Will Not
by Kurissyma san Tybalt
Summary: Psycopathic killers with interrelated MOs are cropping up all over the US, but the case only reaches the BAU with the kidnap of their own technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. Was the outcome of this case decided before it was begun? Garcia/Morgan
1. Chapter 1

_**Time Will Not**_

_Full Title:__ 'You May Delay, But Time Will Not'_

-

_**Chapter 1**_

Garcia was stressed. Badly. The impossible had occurred and she was clammy, shaky, weak-kneed and ready to vomit.

She supposed now, as she punched in a familiar phone number, that it mustn't have been impossible after all, and laughed incredulously at the thought. It wasn't _impossible_ that Brad Pitt would show up on her doorstep and say "Hey, aren't you that cute chick from the grocery store?" after all. It was just very, _very_ unlikely.

With her fingers shaking so badly she had to redial three times before she got a connection. As she did so, she replayed the conversation in her head.

-

_She'd answered the phone chirpily, as always. A little buzz of optimism for her hard-working field agents and her gorgeous candy-man. "Office regarding the answer to life, the universe and everything. No it is not 42, it is _me_. Shutdown's in 5. What's your pleasure?"_

"_Baby girl, it's 7:30," _he'd_ replied, sounding concerned. "Give me one good reason that a pretty girl like you'd still be hanging the BAU at this hour with not a single case open for you to tinker with."_

_Garcia checked her watch lazily and let out an exaggerated yawn as she removed her orange heeled feet from on top of her desk, silver bells jangling as she did so. "I was _sleeping_, obviously," she retorted. "Not that you'd understand that… The moment you got warm and cosy enough to actually take a nap, your sensuous dark chocolate body begins to melt away…" Garcia paused thoughtfully._

"_Baby girl, you know I don't like to be compared to food items," Morgan complained in good humour. "Especially given the way you always look hungry when you see me…"_

_Garcia licked her lips and giggled. "It is _not_ a coincidence," she informed him mischievously._

_Again Morgan chuckled. "What say I take my mama out to dinner. Nice place. Settle your ever insatiable hunger."_

_Garcia considered, then blanched, replaying his phrasing in his head, analysing it._

_Dinner with Morgan?_

_Nice place?_

_It didn't compute. When they ate together alone together it was always take out, bar food, or maybe a light meal at a café… always! What did _'nice place'_ mean, anyway? More importantly still, just which 'insatiable hunger' did Morgan intend to settle…?_

_Immediately, Garcia found herself feeling giddy… and hot. Very hot. In a very inappropriate place._

"_Garcia?" Morgan sounded concerned again and Garcia realised too late that she hadn't yet given him a reply. "Baby girl, are you still with me?"_

_Garcia forced herself out of it. "Yeah, yeah. On scene," she replied, trying to play it cool. "I'm just, uh… tired. That's all. You woke me, remember?"_

"_Yeah," said Morgan, cautiously relieved._

"_So… dinner?"_

"_Yeah," Morgan repeated, a little awkwardly. "I mean, there's this new restaurant in my neighbourhood I've been thinking 'bout trying out, and I figure, well, if you're not busy, it's a whole lot cooler than some single guy in smart clothes eating out on his own."_

"_I'd love to," Garcia agreed before she could help herself._

_The speedy reply was enough to soothe Morgan's damaged pride and return to him his former confidence. "Cool," he said casually. "I'll pick you up in, say, one hour. I know it doesn't leave you long to get home and freshen up, but we don't wanna leave it too late if you're tired, right? 8:30?"_

"_Y-yeah, cool," she repeated his phrase._

"_Cool," Morgan said again. "I'll go home and, uh, brush my hair. You go home and dolly up for me, yeah baby? See you soon?"_

"_Sure thing," Garcia replied, mind on autopilot by this stage._

"…_Dress sexy, baby."_

_Garcia froze up again and by the time she was able to question his wording, her miscellaneous dining companion for the evening had terminated contact…_

_Shit._

_She had one hour remaining._

-

"Hey, JJ. Thanks for coming over so fast! I've only got 45 minutes!" Garcia panted as she ran up to her own front door, keys jangling. "Been waiting here long?"

"Not really," JJ replied. "Of course, you know I'd do anything for you, girl."

Garcia smiled. "So sweet," she said, reaching up to pinch JJ's cheek affectionately whilst pushing the door open with her opposite shoulder. "Now, I hope you can run stairs—"

"Whoa, _whoa_, Pen," JJ interrupted, placing a hand firmly on her friend's arm. "Before I run all those stairs in _these shoes_, you had better tell me what I'm running them for!"

Garcia glanced up the stairs longingly before replying, realising that JJ wouldn't budge until she did. "Morgan asked me out," she blurted out, not even pausing to register the reaction. "He said it was a 'nice place' but he was really casual about it so I don't know what— Well, I need you to figure out what that means and help me dress appropriately." Without further ado, she began sprinting up the stairs, two-by-two, with JJ in close pursuit.

"O-okay," she panted. "You don't know… the name of… the place?"

"I've got a… few possibilities… Morgan said it… was… in his neighbourhood… recently opened… Been thinking about… trying it… out…"

Both girls stopped to rest momentarily on a landing and Garcia spilled out everything she knew.

"I did a search before I left the BAU and the only decent yet recent place around is the one where I know he took his mother last time she visited."

JJ paused mid-step, about to take on the next flight of stairs, nodding thoughtfully. "So he's lying about wanting to 'try it out'," she said, grin widening, and with a note of glee making itself evident in her tone. "Fact of the matter is, he's found a place near his house nice enough to take his mother and he wants to take _you_ there."

Not for the first time that night, Garcia felt dizzy. "But what _is_ this, JJ? It's so out of the blue…" They began to walk again, all attempts at sprinting wordlessly abandoned. "What do I _do_? What does he _expect_ me to do??"

"Pen, calm down!" JJ chastised her, taking her arm and linking it around hers. "When we get up to your place there's a simple solution for finding the answers to those questions," she said confidently.

"There _is_??"

"Of course!" JJ replied, pointing up at the door to the apartment. "I'll just call him and ask him!"

"_What?!" _Garcia tugged her arm away and jumped up a step to halt JJ in her path. "No way!" she protested. "It's too obvious! He'll know you're asking for me! Trust me, I _know_ him!"

JJ looked up at Garcia considerately. "You may be right… What you need is someone totally innocent, unassuming… Someone we can bend to our will without it being obvious…"

A few moments passed in silence, then both girls' heads snapped up simultaneously, eyes glowing. Excitedly, they exclaimed in unison:

"_Reid!!_"

-

"Hi, uh, is this Derek Morgan?"

"Reid? Yeah, this is Morgan. What's up, kid?"

Reid stuttered falteringly— a flaw that JJ and Garcia had overlooked in their excitement.

"I was, uh, wondering if you were, uh, f-free tonight. I mean, I —tha-that is to say w-we— were thinking of, uh, going out for a b-beer or something?"

Morgan paused and pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it with the sort of uncomprehending look one usually reserves for surveying alien communication devices, or evidence of a partner's infidelity. Reid was not a liar, mostly because he was so terrible at it. So why was he lying now?

"Who is _'we'_, Reid?" Morgan asked suspiciously.

Reid struggled for names desperately. "I, uh… Uhh… That would be… Agent Prentiss."

"Emily Prentiss will be there?" Morgan confirmed slowly.

"Yeah!" Reid agreed, a little too quickly. "And, uh, JJ, Agent Rossi."

"Is that so?" Morgan chuckled, shaking his head at the phone.

"Even Elle!"

"Even Elle," Morgan repeated, amusement ringing clear in his tone. "Tell me, Reid, will Penelope Garcia be there by any chance?"

Reid rushed to answer, then broke off, sighing in defeat. "How'd you guess?" he asked resignedly, receiving only a muffled chuckle in response. "…What am I supposed to tell her?"

"We'll see," Morgan replied. "What exactly did my baby girl ask you to find out for her? She must have known that I'd tell you that I was busy with her tonight. What was her purpose?"

Reid coughed discreetly. "I was, uh, supposed to ask you if you were asking her out or not," he admitted ruefully. "Is it a date? All that jazz. If I managed that successfully I was also supposed to ask, basically, the terms and conditions. Is it formal? What sort of thing is she supposed to wear? What kind of food should she expect? The list goes on…"

"Why didn't she ask me these questions?" asked Morgan, brows furrowing slightly.

"I expect she was nervous," Reid answered, a little more comfortable now he was telling the truth, even if he _was_ betraying Garcia by doing so. "She mentioned that you were pretty vague and she was a little out of it, tired and surprised. Probably felt silly about asking, in case she'd missed something telling."

"Right, so what do I do?" asked Morgan. "Give you the answers so you can tell her?"

"Uh, I guess that'd be the best course of action," Reid agreed. Then, thinking it over, he grinned sheepishly. "It'd also save me from telling Garcia that I told you."

"Cool..." Morgan drummed his fingers on the table uncertainly. "Uh, Reid. I wouldn't usually ask, but… what would _you_ tell her?"

Reid quirked his lip a little, confused.

"Me?" he replied, evidently surprised. "Call me old-fashioned, but I'd just tell the girl the truth."

-

Garcia's eyes widened as the phone rang, and after exchanging a frantic look with JJ and deliberating a few seconds, she jumped on it. "Hello?? Reid? _Hello_??"

"Hi," Reid replied, somewhat awkwardly.

Garcia put him on speaker and sat down, knees to chest on the couch beside JJ. "What is it? What did he tell you? Did he figure you out??"

"N-no!!" Reid was quick to reply. "I fooled him!"

JJ raised an eyebrow suspiciously but Garcia was too caught up in what he was saying to take in how exactly he said it. "How did it go??" she asked quickly. "I only have twenty-five minutes to get ready—!"

"It's a date," Reid told her plainly. "The restaurant is called La Dolce Vita. It's Italian: 'The Sweet Life'. Comprehende?"

Garcia fell backwards in relief, nodding happily.

Realising that Garcia was not about to give a verbal answer, JJ stepped in. "Reid, it's JJ. What's the dress code at this place?"

"It's pretty fancy. I can tell you Morgan's wearing a dress shirt and good pants, so Garcia'd wear… I dunno. I guess, a dress?"

JJ considered this. "Great. What colour shirt is Morgan wearing?"

Reid was caught off guard, and coughed loudly to cover his error. "I, uh, I didn't ask," he admitted. "Me and Morgan, we're guys. We don't care about colour co-ordination. I promise, Morgan will just pick the first thing that comes out of his drawer…"

-

"_Man!_ This is _ridiculous!_ Which fucking shirt am I supposed to wear??" Morgan cursed to his empty apartment. "Jesus! I like the green one, but if Garcia wears red we'll look stupid together, like Christmas elves when they leave the mall display in costume! This is ridiculous… It shouldn't be this damned hard!!!"

-

"You're right, it's no big deal what colour shirt he wears," JJ agreed, shooting Garcia a reassuring look. "Is there anything else he might have mentioned to you? Something that might help Garcia prepare for this?" she glanced over at her friend, staring at the ceiling in a daze beside her on the couch.

"Uh, I dunno," Reid replied. "He said that it was a big night. He wanted it to be special…"

JJ grinned at Garcia, who had jolted into a sitting position at those words.

"Whoooa, hold on there, Reid!" she exclaimed. "_What_ does he mean by that???"

Reid hesitated, evidently put off by her sudden vigour. "What? I— I dunno, Garcia. I'm not the one who said it!"

"Spencer Reid, I am _begging_ you!" Garcia pleaded emphatically. "What else did he say?"

Reid wracked his brain for snippets of conversation. "Uh…"

"Come _on_, Reid! What did you talk about?" Garcia cried, leaning forward so far that JJ considered restraining her to prevent damage to the phone, and/or Reid's ears.

"I— I mentioned that the top conversation killer on dates is past relationships, 49%, followed by dieting or body image, 21%, politics—"

"That's enough, Reid. You did good," JJ cut in, taking the phone off speaker to prevent Garcia working herself up any further. "Thanks for your help. I'm sure Penelope will be all right now. She has to get ready."

"That's fine," Reid agreed, evidently relieved to be getting to the end of this stint. "Tell her I said good luck."

"I will."

"She doesn't even need it," he added, as an afterthought. "Morgan is absolutely madly in love with her… Uh, don't tell her I said that, okay? He might kill me."

JJ laughed quietly and thanked him again before hanging up the phone. "Reid says good luck," she said, placing it back on the table. "Now come on and get up so we can pick out something for you to wear, pronto."

"I'm going on a date with Derek Morgan," Garcia murmured almost inaudibly.

"What's that?" asked JJ, brows furrowing slightly as she strained to hear.

Garcia merely looked up dazedly, a small smile starting on her numb face. "Brad Pitt is at my door…"

-

"So, how do I look?"

By 8:25 both JJ and Emily were present, floating calmly around the house searching out "finishing touches."

By 8:25 Garcia was standing by the door ready to go, hair brushed back, shoes clasped, make-up in full array.

By 8:25 the words "How do I look?" sounded more like a boast than an attack of last minute nerves.

By 8:29 Morgan was knocking on her door.

By 10:53 Garcia's home had become a crime scene.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Time Will Not**_

-

_**Chapter 2**_

"In the past 7 weeks 12 American citizens holding jobs involving superior technological knowledge have been abducted from their homes in three different states, purportedly by a group known only as 'The Anti-Futurist Literature Association'. 5 have since been found dead."

Reid frowned deeply and shook his head, attracting the attention of the group. Rossi nodded for him to speak and he did so. "With all due respect, sir. _'Anti-Futurist Literature Association'_… That sounds more like the name of a _book club_ or _discussion group_ than a murdering party. Not to mention that larger groups of serial killers, as the term 'Association' would imply, are exceedingly rare, though partners are fairly common and over 13% of American murders are committed by multiple persons—"

Rossi turned his attention from Reid to the screen behind him and nodded to JJ, who clicked open a slideshow for him. A gruesome body was displayed on screen and JJ had to struggle even to look at it.

"Their brains have been surgically removed," Reid commented, a sort of grim fascination taking over his features as he stood to examine the pictures blown up before them.

"Doesn't look like the work of any literature association," Prentiss commented dryly, shooting JJ a sympathetic look as she saw the woman avoiding the screen.

"This was the first victim," Rossi explained, "It's pre-autopsy but the body's been cleaned up sufficiently. The killer, or killers, positioned his mouth wide open and held it in place with a small stick snapped off from the nearby brush, clearly displaying two full rows of teeth."

"Do you see the fillings here, and here?" asked JJ, tapping the screen with a metre ruler. "The victim's dental work was on file, as was that of all of the other victims. Furthermore, as each body was found in the morning, out in the open, most of them in local parks, one on a heavily used forest trail, we can surmise that they were dumped at night by someone who doesn't care whether or not the bodies are found. In fact, some one who _wants_ the bodies found…"

"Not only are we easily _able_ to identify the victims," Reid commented, "But we're actually being _urged_ to. They want us to see that the victims, these technical experts, have all been chosen for a very specific reason."

"Could it be a coincidence that all of them had dental work?" asked Prentiss, squinting to observe the teeth on the screen.

"It _could_ be," Reid agreed, "But I highly doubt that. Why display the teeth so prominently if they mightn't be any use at all in identification? That would only hinder their message about the importance of the victimology. No, I think this was more likely intentional, so that the mutilation of the heads from the removal of the brain didn't slow us down identifying the victims."

"Okay, " Prentiss agreed. "So who exactly has access this sort of information? Other than the dentists of the victims themselves."

"Doctors, morgues, forensic analysts can request them, as can the police, the FBI… Two of the victims, the last two, actually worked for the FBI as technical analysts," said Rossi, holding up his hand for silence to continue. "Forgetting for a minute that this suggests an increased level of confidence by the elevation in the status and power of the victims, technical analysts for the FBI pull up that sort of information on suspects and victims frequently."

"You think that our unsub, or unsubs, resents the power of technical analysts to pull up that sort of private information on them?" Prentiss suggested. "…Assuming that these technical analysts are the prime targets they've been working up to?"

Reid considered this carefully. "These are uncertain times in terms of moral conflicts with technology. Americans are worried about their perceived _right to privacy_ and there are all sorts of conspiracy theories floating around the Internet about exactly how closely the government is watching its people… You know those new devices they're trying out at airports to strip-search you via x-ray? At the moment, hot topic is that a new version of this technology is being deployed in vans across the country, allowing government agents to strip search you anytime, anywhere, without your consent or knowledge."

"Give me the keys to one of those…" Rossi muttered, unamused.

"There's also the question: How good _are_ government satellites, anyway?" Reid continued. "If I were one of the nude sunbathers captured on their rooftops by Google Earth and FWD'd all over the world, I'd despair at technology too."

"Okay," Hotch agreed. "So our unsubs are pissed off at government surveillance, _possibly_. That would explain the technical analysts from the FBI but not the victims prior to that. JJ, can we see a full list of victims and their positions on that thing?"

"I didn't put it together," JJ replied uncertainly. "I'm just clicking as ordered. Rossi?"

Rossi shook his head. "Not yet," he replied firmly. "Cause of death is one of the more surprising aspects of the case…"

"Surprising how?" Hotch queried, suspicious that his request for exact victims had been denied.

"In the first three cases, surprisingly merciful," was Rossi's measured response. "Poisoning. Quick and quite likely relatively painless."

"How administered?" asked JJ. "Since there are no defensive wounds we can assume that either the person was known to them, possibly slipped it in a drink he was pouring, or at least that the poison itself was administered _unknown_ to them."

"Traces of the poison were found in every drink in the refrigerator," Hotch explained. "As long as the victim had a drink before they went to bed they'd be dead shortly afterwards. We believe that the unsub watched and waited for the victim to die before removing the brain post-mortem. Like we said, relatively very painless."

"I would suggest that, in order for his plan to work unfailingly, the unsub stalked the victims and chose to poison the drinks only when they were sure that the victim would not leave the house again that evening. For example, before they come home from work in the evening," Rossi commented.

"In the first three cases," JJ repeated Rossi's own words. "What changed?"

"Everything but the removal of the brain…" said Hotch, disappointed.

"The significance of the brain," Reid suggested, "Could be that the unsub or unsubs resent these technological experts for so little as actually having the mental _intelligence_ to hack into their personal records and details."

"There's a lot of sensitive information in those files, and if we're talking about technophobic knuckle-draggers, it would make sense."

"But how does that help us?" asked JJ. "The FBI has 'sensitive information' on just about everyone. There's nothing to tell us if our unsub is a politician trying to cover up allegations of misconduct, an athlete accused of rape or using illegal drugs, doctors accused of malpractice, even innocent people in witness protection… A lot of otherwise innocent people have reasons to support a group that stands to protect their precious privacy… Reid?"

Reid, who had stopped listening some time ago, looked up now. Without having to be asked, he began to share his thoughts. "In the letters," he motioned for JJ to go back a few slides and she did so, "It mentions 'intelligence' several times. It speaks of it being our _downfall_, mentions the 'intelligence' of our 'armoured robots'. Now, robots are a frequent subject in futurist, or perhaps more accurately termed _'speculative'_ literature, but I don't think they're referring to that. I think the 'armoured robot' here is a metaphor for safe-guarded computers. A normal citizen's computer is relatively easy to hack, but if you tried to hack into Garcia's computer… well, I don't even know if it's possible, frankly. I think the writer of this message is expressing his contempt for the 'intelligence' of these 'robots' because of his frustration. He can't hack them…"

JJ shook her head. She'd stop listening at 'Garcia'. It had been bugging her since she'd entered the room: both Morgan and Garcia were absent. She voiced her concerns.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged looks and Rossi signalled JJ to turn off the slideshow.

"Sir?" she queried.

"Penelope Garcia was kidnapped at approximately 10pm yesterday evening. A neighbour called in the 911, claiming to have heard yelling, male, coming from Garcia's residence," Hotch explained. He seemed to be smiling, if possible, even _less_ than usual. "Morgan was, as far as we can tell, at the scene when the crime occurred. He was shot twice in the stomach and is still in surgery following severe complications during the night." The room was horrified, silent. Each _'tick'_ of the clock seemed hesitant, apologetic. Time dragged. "JJ, I want you to be at the hospital when he wakes up. Take a copy of the file with you. Read up, and be ready. Keep us posted."

"Yes, sir," JJ managed to say. Her head was spinning. She'd seen her just last night! Nervous, yes, but ecstatic about her date… She'd been so happy for her… Glancing over at Reid, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. "I'll leave now, sir."

Hotch nodded and she left, almost tripping in her haste.

"We'll have to check out the crime scene," said Hotch soberly. "Rossi?"

"The fourth murder victim," Rossi reminded him, a grim look on his face. Taking over the slideshow from JJ, he clicked it on to the next picture. Reid looked away immediately, suddenly light-headed. Beside him, Hotch was grimly still.

"He's started to mutilate his victims further post-mortem," Rossi explained distastefully. "If the ubsub started out killing to make a statement, he's certainly begun to enjoy it. Unlike the poisoning, the stabbing symbolises the sex act, suggesting that he's impotent, bisexual because he's now stabbed to death both a man and a woman. The message is still there, the teeth are clearly displayed… but he's killing for another reason now, and he_ will not stop."_ He flicked to a new slide. "We believe this is the stressor for the change in MO."

Reid turned back to the screen reluctantly and immediately regretted it. Lying before him on screen was a young girl, 10-years-old, stabbed through the back and lying in a pool of her own blood. The knife remained lodged.

As usual, Rossi didn't wait long for his team to come to grips with the image before launching back into his explanation. "Evidence at the scene suggests that the unsub was leaving when he saw this kid, the niece of the third victim, enter the room. He stabbed her as she stood, horrified, in the doorway. The unsub carried out the woman and disposed of her elsewhere, as planned, but he left the girl in the doorway, suggesting she was of no consequence to him. When considering victimology, she is likely irrelevant. The woman was found in a local park the next morning."

"Previously," Hotch took over, "The unsub had chosen a method of killing by which he would never have to see the victims die, never hear them scream. It was quiet, it was easy, and it was working. His biggest problem was getting into the houses. All but one of the crime scenes had windows opened in the bathroom, no signs of a break in."

"A coincidence?" posed Prentiss.

"Not so likely," Hotch disagreed. "Quite likely the unsub visited the house earlier in the day, asked to use the bathroom and opened the window himself before leaving in a seemingly innocuous manner."

"He's used to everything being smooth and easy," said Reid. "Then suddenly he has to stab this girl and he finds himself aroused by it, so he goes on to mutilate his next victim. He's spending more time with them in order to satisfy himself sexually."

"If this guy's starting to enjoy his kills they're going to become more common, and more brutal," Prentiss put in, still looking at the young girl on the screen heartbrokenly. "Garcia may not have much time."

"There's something that's bugging me," Rossi said, shaking his head curiously. "Why does this unsub kill 5 victims in their home, child not included, then dump them outside in plain sight, and then go to the trouble of kidnapping _4 others_ in order to either hold them or dump them out of sight. I think we have to assume that these victims are alive. There's no point hiding a victim whose body you want to use to give out your message. They must have taken them for another reason."

"But the FBI hasn't received any contact from the killers— no demands of any sort. What are they trying to pull by simply removing their victims?" asked Hotch.

"I believe what we're looking at are the MOs of at least two separate, but linked, unsubs," said Rossi, indicating a file strewn across the desk. "Check out the dates of the murders and the kidnappings. The last two."

"A technical analyst was murdered in New York the same evening that Garcia was abducted," Prentiss noted, eyebrows furrowing as she glanced over the file.

"If we track the kidnappings and the murders as being the work of two different unsubs respectively, we can get a very clear timeline," Hotch explained. "But I want to you remember: While we'll treat those missing as living until we find evidence to the contrary, with a second unsub the change in the dump site may be part of his own individual MO— there may well be more bodies that we haven't found yet."

He didn't have to explain that Garcia's 'may well' be one of them.

"I understand," said Prentiss firmly, and Reid agreed.

"We will not be working this case alone," Rossi went on. "We're far too attached. So we're going to be working out of Virginia for the time being, while corresponding with other bureau offices and local PD offices across Virginia, DC, and New York."

"Prentiss, you and Reid will be checking out the latest crime scene," Hotch said. "Rossi and I will be working on the profile. JJ will talk to Morgan and release the profile when we're ready." He paused grimly. "I know I don't have to remind you that time is of the essence. Get out there and do good work."

-

"To a point it's perfectly innocent," Reid mused solemnly as he and Prentiss stood outside Garcia's red brick apartment building. "There's no forced entry, no sign of a struggle here in the courtyard. The only thing that would tip a passerby off if the police tape surrounding the place…"

"And the fact that it's now a ghost building…" Prentiss added. "Completely void of life…"

"She must have been unconscious when they took her out—"

"But why choose Penelope?" Prentiss asked suddenly, causing Reid to squirm, discomfort evident.

"Emily, we've got to step back from this…"

"No, no," Prentiss replied, shaking her head roughly. "What I mean is: why chose _this_ technical analyst? She's not on the ground floor, so the unsub couldn't have had access through a window, he'd have had to have been let in, which is different from the other cases. She also lives in an apartment building, and having been in there, I know her neighbours would be at the door the moment they heard any noise— to complain, if for no other reason. It's also difficult to surveil, and there's no cover here in the courtyard, or even in the back."

"You think there was some personal motive that prompted the unsub to choose Garcia?" asked Reid.

Prentiss shook her head, though not necessarily in dissent, as she walked into the building. "I don't know. I'm just saying that's it's strange."

Reid nodded understandingly. "So is everything else about this case."

When Reid and Prentiss reached Garcia's apartment at the top of the stairs the door was ajar, and a small group of crime scene techs were just finishing up taking samples inside. A local sheriff crossed to meet them at the door.

"You're the agents?" he presumed. "I just got a call from an Agent Jareau saying you'd be by. I'm Don Crete, the sheriff. We've left the scene here in tact, as requested."

"Thank you, Sheriff," said Reid, as Prentiss walked past them both silently, apparently taken aback by the state of her friend's home. "My name is Dr Spencer Reid. I'm with the BAU," he explained. "My colleague is Agent Emily Prentiss. We both worked closely with the, uh, the victim."

"'Work'," Prentiss mumbled.

"What?" asked Reid, a little put off.

"We _'work'_ with _Penelope," _Prentiss corrected him, a little more loudly. "Someone told me once that it was cruel to label someone the 'victim'… Dead or alive, her name is Penelope Garcia." She didn't turn to look at them, but reached up to brush the beaded curtain that hung across Garcia's bedroom door fondly. "…And she's still a member of this team."

Reid didn't argue, and slowly the crime scene techs forwarded out, leaving the sheriff to loiter awkwardly by the door.

"Do you need anything, doctor?" he asked, and the familiar scepticism in his tone didn't escape Reid's notice. He glanced at Prentiss, and when she didn't respond, he decline.

The sheriff left contact details, and then vacated the room. They were now alone.

"Reid, there was certainly a struggle _in here_," Prentiss noted solemnly.

Reid ignored her comment. "I'm Morgan," he stated, adopting the agent's own method of profiling briefly. "Garcia invites me in and what's the first thing she does? I suppose she offers me a drink. I might offer to get _her_ one. One of us is at the fridge, the other most likely on the couch…" He didn't venture to the fridge himself, but instead gestured at the coffee table by the couch. "2 glasses of wine. Why? Garcia's been known to drink beer socially, and Morgan drinks it almost without exception."

Prentiss cottoned on and checked the fridge. "There's beer in here," she confirmed, then smiled weakly. "I suppose the date went well."

Reid chuckled. "Look here. Instinctively we place our glasses on our right side, approximately parallel to our shoulders, for easy access." He mimicked the action. "So they were sitting closely— about shoulder to shoulder… We won't get toxicology for a while, but I'd doubt the drinks were poisoned. They're still quite full. Why lead Morgan and Garcia away from the couch, to where Morgan was shot over there, if the intention was to poison them? Surely that would be far easier?"

Prentiss didn't reply, checking a CD player to her right. "It's good music for a night in," she noticed. "They might have danced." As Reid took out his phone and started dialling, she tuned him out. "They're dancing," she said to herself. "What gets Morgan shot on that side of the room, and then allows Garcia to walk peacefully out of the building? Surely there would have been no time to knock her out and drag her after Morgan yelled out and alerted the neighbour… She must have gone willingly."

Suddenly Reid snapped his cell shut. "Prentiss, toxicology at the previous crime scenes where kidnapping occurred came back negative— the victims who were taken weren't poisoned or drugged."

"Morgan said to me once, 'I've seen Garcia panic— it's a sight to behold," Prentiss continued her own train of thought. "He was joking at the time but it's true— why wouldn't she panic or make a fuss? Especially considering Morgan had just been shot."

"But he got two clean shots in the stomach," Reid pointed out. "Maybe the unsub had her convinced that if she left peacefully, that's _all_ he'd get."

"Which would have meant that Garcia left peacefully with our unsub in the time it took the neighbour to get to her door and dial 911."

Reid considered this carefully. "JJ was round at her place last night, helping her get ready for her date," he said. "She was dressed prettily, I suppose. JJ could tell us exactly what she was wearing. We need to get her to release that information to the public. Maybe someone saw a woman fitting her description with someone who looked underdressed by comparison. I doubt our unsub was wearing a tux. He may also have appeared nervous. She certainly would have."

Suddenly he was interrupted by Prentiss' phone ringing. She didn't bother apologising, just picked it up immediately. "Agent Prentiss— Jayj… Okay. Okay, we'll be right over." She breathed in deeply before hanging up and turning back to Reid. "Morgan's awake and talking."

-

"Derek, you need to calm down," JJ was begging, pretty close to tears herself as Prentiss and Reid rushed in. "Please. You need to tell us what happened."

Morgan was sitting up, obviously in pain, and attempting to swing his legs over the side of the bed to stand. JJ was attempting to restrain him. With Reid and Prentiss' help, she finally had him settled.

"Morgan, can you tell us what happened?" asked Prentiss, drawing up a chair slowly.

"That _bastard_—"

"Start from the beginning, Morgan," Prentiss interrupted him calmly. "Slowly. Don't get yourself worked up."

It was easier said than done, but eventually he began again.

"I was out with her last night," he explained. "We went to this Italian place— it was nice. Almost fancy. She was—" His throat ached as he spoke. "She was beautiful. It was a first date of sorts… Neither of us were entirely sure where it would lead, but she was open to giving it a try. We went back to her place. I drove. She invited me in…"

"Did you notice anyone? Or maybe an unfamiliar car?" JJ asked, leaning forward seriously. "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"It wasn't _my house_," Morgan pressed. "I didn't know if the cars out front belonged to the people in her building or otherwise. Honestly, my mind was completely elsewhere, and I had no reason to expect anything untoward. Nothing caught my eye."

"You don't remember glancing—?"

"One of the cars nearby was red," was all Morgan could say. "The nearest one was a dark colour, I think, but there was definitely a red one parked a few spaces away."

"Was there a red car when you were there?" asked JJ, turning to Reid and Prentiss.

"Not that I saw," replied Reid, and Prentiss confirmed this.

JJ frowned. "Go on, Morgan."

Morgan had to fight to speak. "She invited me in," he repeated. "We had poured wine, but I don't think we drank much. She wanted to dance…" A weak smile broke the corners of his lips. "We were having a good time," he said helplessly. "We kissed for a while. I wasn't paying attention to anything else. When I opened my eyes this guy way standing behind her. He was holding a gun… watching. He was just watching us. We were completely unarmed. I made her stand behind me... Let me sit with a sketch artist. I've done nothing but practise picturing his face since I woke up here. I'm sure I remember it clearly."

"We've got one coming in," said JJ. "He won't be long."

"Meanwhile, did the unsub _say_ anything to you before he shot you? Was there anything in the way he acted?" asked Reid cautiously.

"He was nervous and apologetic," Morgan replied immediately. "I've been trying to think what he reminded me of. Reid, it was you. He was small, and he spoke in an intellectual manner. He apologised profusely. He promised me he wouldn't have to hurt anyone if I let him take her— as _if_ I would! He didn't like that. She shifted back and forward on his toes a bit, and just as I had Penelope edging for my gun in the pocket of my jacket on the couch he shot me. She almost lost her mind. I wanted to tell her to go on and take my gun but I couldn't speak. For God's sake, if only I could have…"

"She wouldn't have listened," JJ replied quietly. "Derek, she would have done anything for you."

"She '_will'_," Prentiss corrected her firmly.

"He didn't want to hurt her," Morgan said half-heartedly. "I have to believe that he didn't…"

An unfamiliar face appeared at the door and JJ stood, walking over to greet him.

"I'm Rupert Hales. The sketch artist."

"Agent Jennifer Jareau. These are my colleagues Dr Spencer Reid, Agent Emily Prentiss. We'll leave you to sit with Agent Derek Morgan."

They did so and the sketch artist sat awkwardly.

"It's the hardest thing, when the only witnesses are the loved ones of the victims," he admitted. "The job is necessary, and I'm good at it, but watching people relive those terrifying moments… It gets old really fast."

Morgan nodded silently, clearing his throat.

"Shall we begin?"

-

"JJ, Hotch will understand if you don't want to be the one to give the press conference," Emily promised, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she watched her friend prepare for the cameras. "Let someone else do it."

JJ shook her head firmly. "My friend is missing. This is what I can do to help her. I'm doing it."

Emily nodded slowly and stepped back. JJ gave signalled to Hotch that she was ready and stepped outside the building. The questions hit her like a bombshell but she pushed through them, bringing out the important details of the profile and the description of the man she's just been emailed. She knew the sketch would be faxed out and displayed in the corner of the screen. At this point, all they could really do was pray the public heeded it…


	3. Chapter 3

_**Time Will Not**_

_Author's Note:_ 'Pace' is pronounced 'Pa-Che'

-

_**Chapter 3**_

"Penelope, I'm sorry," Pace fretted, sitting on the floor beside her, knees drawn up to his chest protectively. "I'm just trying to protect you, I promise. I'm sure your friend is okay. I mean, someone must have heard…"

Garcia's mouth moved silently against the gag and he frowned at her.

"Don't give me that look, Penelope. I said I was sorry!" he complained in a whingy tone. "I had to do it! Felix is out of control. He was killing all of them! Please believe me."

Eventually, he tired of the silence he had enforced on her and he stood, leaving without another word. Garcia glanced around the room desperately. It was nicely furnished, with windows too, but she found them locked and facing out to a brick wall. On top of that she was clearly several stories up. When they'd entered he'd sat her on the floor, but now she adjusted the positioning of her bound limbs and used them to hoist herself up onto the bed. She flopped back in helpless exhaustion. How long had be been locked in this plush prison? Where was Morgan? _How_ was Morgan? She lived in an apartment block, someone surely would have heard… but how soon would they have come to check on her? His cries haunted her every waking moment. She dared not think of the dreams she'd have if she ever fell asleep.

Garcia lay back on the pillows and ridiculously enough felt a sudden wave of calm wash over her. It was comfortable, and she hadn't slept since the night before last… Her last conscious thought was one of complete and utter surrender.

-

"Penelope, wake up! Penelope! Look!"

Garcia found herself groaning quietly as the excited voice pulled her from her state of almost-sleep, and she opened her eyes to find Pace sitting on the end of her bed, leaning forward in excitement as he watched the television. She dragged herself over to join him. "Penelope, your team has responded! They're looking for you! I knew they would!"

Garcia directed him a curious look, which he missed, so caught up in the television.

"Isn't that sketch an amazing likeness! They'll find me here! Oh, thank Goodness!"

Suddenly Garcia perked up. If someone had sat with a sketch artist it had to be Morgan, didn't it? Sure enough his familiar face soon replaced JJ's as he began a public plea to her captor. She felt her heart flutter as he spoke.

"_But wait," one of the reporters interrupted. "You're obviously not related to her by blood."_

_Morgan frowned at the observation. "Not by blood," he agreed slowly. "Penelope has no blood relatives left, but that doesn't mean she hasn't got a whole family of people waiting for her to come home. My mother has been beside herself—"_

"_And who are you?"_

"_My name is Derek Morgan. I'm her… next of kin," he explained. "Penelope is my best friend, and I love her. I'm here to appeal to the man who's taken her: …I know you don't want to hurt her. You're doing a very good job of protecting her, but please allow us to take her home. Please come forward. I want to take Penelope dancing again, and hold her in my arms. I want to have her close so that _I _can protect her. Please bring her home. I promise won't fail again."_

Pace removed Garcia's gag considerately as she began to cry, and she found her head resting on his shoulder as she wept, his hand smoothing her hair back over her head soothingly. "There, there," he said. "Your boyfriend will come for you and then you can go home. It's okay."

"Pace, why am I here?" Garcia cried.

"I told you," Pace replied awkwardly. "Felix will keep killing them if your team doesn't stop him. I took so many people, but they didn't notice. I had to kill them because they were useless. But you're the one they'll come and _find_, Penelope. You're the one they care about! Your 'family'—"

Garcia drew away quickly and wiped her tears on her shoulder, causing Pace to flinch. "What if they don't?" she asked, and Pace merely shook his head, continuing to pat her, her arm now, in an attempt to soothe her.

"They will," he said assuredly. "They're out there looking for you right now."

Garcia's voice quavered as she asked the dreaded question. "How long have I got before you kill me like the others?"

Pace seemed honestly shocked. "You're _special_, Penelope," he reminded her. "I promise you: Your team will be here within the week."

Garcia felt her heart sink.

She had little more than 6 days left.

"I taped the show for you," Pace told her gently through her tears. "If you get nervous, just watch him again. They'll find you. I promise."

"Pace, why don't you turn yourself in?" asked Garcia. "If you want them to find you…?"

Pace was shaking his head before he had time to finish the sentence. "I'm a good boy, Penelope. I've been gathering evidence against Felix from the start! But if I go to the police he'll want to silence me, and he'll most certainly come over here and destroy all of the evidence. I have to be caught here in my own home, so I can show your team what's important. It has to be at a time that neither we nor Felix are expecting." He took her bound hands and rubbed them gently between his. "It's okay. When that time comes I'll put you somewhere safe. If they want to shoot at me, you won't accidentally get hurt. I promise I'll protect you."

Garcia sniffled quietly and nodded. "Will you leave me tied up like this until they come?"

Pace looked uncomfortable. "I don't want you to run away… If you do, who will find Felix? He'll know I've screwed up!"

"I won't run away," Garcia promised, causing Pace to look up excitedly.

"Really! You mean that?!" he exclaimed, giving her a big hug. "Thank you, Penelope! I'll untie you right away!" There was something about his eagerness that made her have to smile. "What do you want to do? Shall we watch some television? A movie? What do you like?"

"Is there anything I can have to eat?" asked Garcia hopefully, and he appeared mortified.

"I'm such an awful host! I'll be right back!"

Breathing in deeply and closing her eyes as she leaned against the bedpost, Garcia thought to herself that she hoped the other women Pace had killed had been treated so kindly up until their deaths. Meanwhile, her team had figured out that not only did Pace not want to hurt her, but he was also protecting her. If they knew that much, maybe they already knew how to find her? Impossibly, she wished that she could be of assistance to them somehow.

-

"Pace," Penelope wondered as they ate, sitting with legs crossed on the bed and plates before them. "Why don't you let me contact the team and tell them where to come? Wouldn't that speed things up an awful lot?"

"Penelope, of course I'd like things to be that simple," Pace replied honestly, "But Felix is monitoring communications in and out of my house. Out of _all of our_ houses."

Penelope felt her mouth run dry. "_'All of our houses'_," she repeated dimly.

"There are six of us," he admitted. "But they're not evil like Felix, I promise! I think if your team could only catch _him_ then the others would just stop and there would be no need to find them."

"Pace…"

"I know you're FBI, but I promise they're not bad people! I don't want them to get in any trouble! Please don't tell anyone!" Felix begged. "They're just kids. They don't know what they're doing, killing these people. Please!"

Garcia said nothing.

"Nobody ever has to find them. The bodies haven't been laid out like Felix's have. Lucy says it's disrespectful, don't you agree?" Pace asked hopefully.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Garcia quietly and Pace ran his hands through his thick, mousey hair anxiously.

"I don't know, I don't know… Felix was, our teacher, Mr Kiernan, and he… he said he wanted us for an extra credit assignment. We resisted at first, but when he took us there, we knew we'd be implicated if we told. It was the only dead body most of us had ever seen…"

Garcia felt sick to her stomach. "Your teacher did this? You're _students_?"

She could see it now, he almost looked like a younger Reid.

"We're not bad kids," Pace told her, weeping by now. "We were just— We all looked up to Felix, and Richard said he wasn't entirely incorrect… We were afraid."

"Where are they now? Richard and Lucy and the others?"

Pace's eyes fell to his dinner, avoiding her gaze, and he took a few slow bites before answering. "Richard is in California. Mary is in Nevada. Thomas is in Nevada. Colleen is in Los Angeles… You'll meet Lucy soon."

Garcia noted the way in which his tone changed when he mentioned Lucy. It was familiar— she'd heard it in her own voice when she spoke about Morgan, and sometimes she even fancied she heard it when Prentiss talked about JJ. "Lucy is your girlfriend?"

Pace laughed sadly. "Lucy was the most popular girl in school."

-

"Morgan, you never 'failed to protect her'," JJ told him quietly as they walked away from the press conference. "You were _shot_, and the fact that you're here now, when honestly you shouldn't even be walking is…"

"JJ, I was right there," Morgan reminded her. "I was _right there_ between her and that wimpy little stick-insect of an unsub. My gun was in my jacket pocket. It was less than _four feet_ away, and I—"

"You were _shot_," JJ repeated firmly. "You did all you could do. Now please, let me take you back to the hospital and—"

"I am _not_ going back there, JJ. I _can't_!"

JJ sighed deeply. "Then go back to the BAU. I won't have you out in the field."

"I don't take orders from you."

"Well, you'd better start now," she told him, completely seriously. "It's your choice: the BAU, or the hospital."

"Gimme the car keys," he grunted, holding out a hand expectantly.

"You are _not_ driving in your state."

"_Give me_ the fucking _car keys_, JJ!"

"Whoa!" Prentiss exclaimed, jogging to catch up. "Morgan, back seat. Now. Jayj, give me the keys and you go sit with Morgan."

JJ handed them over willingly and Morgan, glaring, got into the car and slammed the door behind them. When he was shut in, Pentiss leaned over to whisper in JJ's ear.

"Hotch will be waiting for Morgan at the BAU. When we've dropped him off, we've got a lead to follow."

-

"Penelope, this is Lucille Vincent," Pace explained proudly, gesturing at the tall, blond-haired woman standing in the doorway. "Lucy, this is Penelope Garcia."

"She's not very pretty," Lucy commented dryly. "And I heard on the TV that she didn't have any family either. Other than that black guy, who's even going to look for her?"

Garcia felt herself bristling.

"She's an FBI agent," Pace said, smiling at Lucy reassuringly. "Really highly valued. And she's got lots of friends. This won't turn out like the others, I'm sure of it."

"The FBI just aired a description of your car. The guy you shot saw it on his way in, but he didn't check the plates— said he had no reason to. It was empty."

"I was already in the house," Pace explained. "But what luck that he saw it!"

"I've only one question for you then: What are you going to do when Felix catches wind that the FBI is after you. Or perhaps a more adequate question: What will _he_ do?"

"They'll find me quickly," Pace told her convincingly. "They're all looking for her! They'll find me and protect us from him! We don't have to be afraid anymore."

"You should stop this," Lucy advised. "Or Felix is going to pin every last murder on _you_."

Pace paled. "But he can't! I made sure to take Penelope the same night that he'd planned to kill again across the border. There's no way the two crimes could have been committed by one person!"

"Then he'll blame that one on one of the others. Either way, Pace. You'll never get out of prison if they find you," said Lucy, and glancing up at Garcia, she stalked out of the room. It was clear that Pace was supposed to follow. He almost did.

"Pace, wait!" Garcia cried, and he paused. "Even if you're charged, when the murders keep going on after you're in custody, they'll offer you a deal. A lesser sentence for information on the killers. You'll have proof that you're not the one doing it." She cringed. "You only killed because you _had_ to, didn't you, Pace? You wanted them to find you so that you could protect other people. You don't want to kill me! You want to protect me, isn't that right??"

"Y-yes," Pace replied guiltily.

"When they come, I'll tell them how kind you were to me, I promise. I promise, Pace."

He began to fidget. "What if Lucy's right?" he asked. "She's so intelligent. I rely on her so much."

"Pace, it's time to be a man!" Garcia exclaimed desperately. "You have to decide things on your own. She should be the one relying on _you_!"

"I— But I'm not as smart as her," Pace whimpered. "I couldn't do it by myself… I get so nervous. Lucy has to kill them for me." Suddenly he blanched. "Don't tell the FBI that! They've got to think she's totally innocent! I can't let her go to jail when this is my fault! I was the coward who said we had to follow Felix!"

Garcia agreed quickly, though of course, she would tell her team everything. "Of course, Pace. You're such a good person. You're protecting her too, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"You're doing a great job." Pace sighed in relief, and Garcia smiled at him. "You can't call them, but why don't you post a letter for me? I can tell them where we are without Felix knowing. Doesn't that sound like a good idea? You can even tell me how to write it." Pace glanced at the door anxiously and Garcia struggled for something to say. "Let's not tell Lucy. Let's surprise her with what a great job you're doing, okay? She'll be so happy when they turn up out of the blue!"

"She will, won't she!" Pace exclaimed.

"That's right! She'll finally know how hard you've been working to protect her."

"She will!"

Garcia smiled as he ran off to fetch some paper. Maybe she had learned something from those profilers after all… Her smile faded as she remembered her predicament. She was almost certain that Lucy was rotten, and more involved with this 'Felix' than Pace knew, but she could hardly tell him that. He was so smitten with her; she knew that he couldn't trust her again if she suggested it. She had to play dumb. When he returned, they set to work.

_Dear JJ,_

"That's one of my friends at the BAU. She's probably the one who'll check her mail first," Garcia explained.

_Please come to number 12, Rothburns Street, Gondora County, Virginia, as soon as possible. _

"Tell her to feel free to come armed, but we won't fight or anything," Pace put in, and Garcia did so.

_Come armed if you want, but you will likely meet no resistance._

"And tell her what a good job I'm doing!"

_My friend Pace is doing a great job of looking after me, and there is something he wishes to tell you._

"Yes, that's right!"

_Please don't delay._

_Love Penelope._

Garcia paused, pen in hand. "Do you mind if I write something else, Pace?"

"What?"

"I want her to tell my friend that it isn't his fault I'm here. I know he must be feeling guilty…"

Pace smiled widely. "Please do."

Garcia scribbled a post-script to Morgan and then gave the letter to Pace. "Can you send it right away?"

"Of course!" Pace replied, and immediately he was gone from the room.

Garcia eyed the pen and leftover paper that remained on the desk and found herself writing a second note, and a third, and a fourth. She kept writing until she was out of paper, and then folded them, placing them in her pockets.

She had 6 days left. 6 letters. One to release out her window every day. If Pace's was intercepted, she had to hope that somebody would find hers. She scrawled contact numbers for everyone she knew on the back. That would have to be enough.

-

"Morgan, wake up," Hotch muttered quietly as he tapped the younger man awake.

He seemed to sway a bit before regaining focus. "Hotch, is something wrong? Did we find something? Do we have her??" He groaned in pain as he jolted up into a sitting position. Apparently, he'd fallen asleep on his desk again.

"You need to go home and get some rest. You're not fit to work this case," Hotch said, and Morgan could see the dark bags forming beneath his eyes too.

"Hotch… Right now, I don't think I'm fit for anything else."

Hotch sighed quietly. "That may be the case, but it's almost four in the morning. At least go and lie down on the couch in the break-room if you won't go home. You're not doing Garcia any good like this."

Morgan groaned as he climbed to his feet, steadying himself with both hands on the desk. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing her any good at all."

Hotch frowned, but said nothing.

"She only went out with Battle because she was angry at me. It's _my_ fault she was shot that night."

"You didn't _shoot_ her, Morgan," Hotch reminded him seriously.

"That's irrelevant," Morgan disagreed. "And besides, in my nightmares it's always me pulling the trigger…"

"Morgan, you're a wreck. You need to get some sleep."

Hotch's voice was firm and Morgan glanced up at him weakly.

"This is a mess…"

"So are you."

Frowning, Morgan climbed to his feet. "Tell me the minute something happens," he stressed, causing Hotch to grimace.

"I will."

-

"Just past 3 yesterday morning a businessman, John Robarts, walking his dog down this street saw a red car pull into the garage at number 12. He saw his neighbour get out and waved, but the neighbour didn't notice him. He was going to go over and see what he was up to, but the dog, a big one apparently, led him off in the opposite direction and he didn't get a chance," JJ explained as she parked the car in front of a picturesque, white picket fenced home. "This, number 4, is Robart's house. He called the tipline around 7 yesterday evening."

Prentiss didn't reply, but walked straight ahead to knock on the door. The man that opened it was young, possibly a university student. He leaned casually against the doorpost and offered the two women a flirtatious smile.

"How can I help you ladies?"

JJ didn't flinch. "I'm Agent Jennifer Jareau with the FBI. This is Agent Prentiss. We're here about a sighting of a red car around 3 am yesterday morning? Are you John Robarts?"

The student seemed to lose interest. "The younger. You're looking for my dad, John Snr. He's been going on about his theory that Pace's a serial killer ever since he realised that the guy drove a red car," he explained. "Between you and me, Pace's an okay guy, but my dad's never been fond of him. I'm not saying he's lying necessarily, but… Pace doesn't look much like the guy in the sketch that was on the TV."

"We understand," Prentiss confirmed. "Is your dad in?"

"Yeah, let me get him."

As the door closed in their faces, Prentiss and JJ exchanged a glance. The witness was losing credibility with every passing moment. In short order, however, the door opened again and an older man welcomed them inside.

"Wow, I hoped they'd send someone over, but I didn't know I'd have the FBI at my door! I was expecting someone from the local PD, and not so soon either! They're an inefficient lot, you know!" he told them cheerily as he waved them into the living room. "You must be taking all this pretty seriously, huh? I always knew that kid was up to no good?"

"Could you tell us about your neighbour, sir?" asked JJ, sitting down slowly.

"Pace. Pace Stevenson," John explained. "I don't know what kind of name that is, but I think it's P-A-C-E. Something like that anyway. Bad seed if I ever saw one…"

"What exactly has he done to give you that impression?" asked Prentiss, leaning forward slightly. "Does he exhibit any disruptive behaviour? Does he drink, do drugs, hang around a bad crowd…?"

"No, it's just instinct," said John gruffly, and he frowned at the dark-haired agents raised eyebrow. "He's such a weedy kid. You'd think him the intelligent sort, but he hardly says a word. Not friendly at all, and extremely nervous. I suppose he could be on drugs… Wouldn't really surprise me. Certainly got the money. Lives by himself in this big old house down the road. Got left it by a family member, but he's hardly out of high school."

"A local high school?" asked JJ, and John shook his head distastefully.

"I think he lived in DC. Came up when the old lady down the road passed away. Friend of mine, Lila Matthews. She may have been his grandmother or something. Very nice woman. Nothing like the kid… Anyway the car caught my notice. He always drove a silver one, but that night it was red. Similar model, but red. Why're you talking to me anyway? Don't you wanna talk to him?"

"We'll do that," Prentiss assured him. "But before we do, is there anything else you can tell us about him? Anything that may be a little out of the ordinary? Maybe there was someone unfamiliar in his car that night?"

"Uhh, a blonde, I think. I was surprised because he's not the sort to bring ladies home. Couldn't say if she was the lady from the TV… She could have just as easily been you," He gestured at JJ. "It was late and I wasn't all too close—"

"Thank you for your time, Mr Robarts," said JJ, reaching over to shake his hand quickly. "Your neighbour is in number 12?"

"Yes," John confirmed, a smile floating over his old face.

"We'll contact you if we wish to speak to you again."

John smiled. "I'll look forward to it, ladies."

Leaving the house, JJ and Prentiss couldn't speak. Garcia was one of God knew how many blondes in the world. It wasn't unconceivable that Pace knew one of them, or could even be dating one of them… All the same, it was hard not to hope.

JJ pulled out her phone as they approached the house.

-

"_Hotch, we're approaching 12 Rothburns Street now. Last night a neighbour saw a red car pull up and a blonde getting out with a scrawny kid called Pace Stevenson. He's not sure if it could have been Garcia— it was dark. We're going to talk to him now."_

"Good," Hotch replied, casting a glance over at Morgan sitting nearby. "I'll get the stand-in tech to run a background check on him. Tell me if I need to send Morgan by to identify the guy."

"_We will. See you."_

Hotch frowned as he hung up the phone, all too aware of Morgan watching him piercingly.

"Well?" he asked, gesturing to the phone unit. "That was JJ and Em?"

"They're going in to question a person of interesting— routine response to a tip," Hotch said, not liking the way Morgan's face lit up. "They'll call us if it turns interesting, but they say the person who called in the tip wasn't fond of the kid. It may all be nothing."

Morgan nodded slowly. "What was the guy's name?"

Hotch looked to the note he had just scrawled down. "Pace Stevenson."

All of a sudden, something flashed in Morgan's memory. "Hotch, that's the guy. He said it as they left. It sounded warped at the time but it fits. 'Pa-che'. I heard it!"

Hotch's demeanour changed immediately. "You call the tech. I'll call JJ."

-

Emily had just knocked on the door when JJ's phone rang, and JJ retreated a couple of paces to answer it.

"Hello?"

"_JJ, wait for back-up. Morgan says Pace's our guy."_

JJ glanced over at the door just as it opened and hung up, jogging over to Emily and grabbing her arm as though to pull her back. She froze when she saw that the person standing before them was in fact a woman. A blonde.

"You're looking for Pace? He just left. He'll be hours yet."

"May we come in?" asked Emily. "We'd like to talk to you too if that's all right. It's just routine, I promise."

"Of course," the woman agreed, stepping back, and JJ could only follow as Emily stepped obliviously over the threshold and into the home of their friend's captor.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Time Will Not**_

_Author's Note: _I'm aware that not all readers of this Morgan/Garcia fic are interested in reading about a JJ/Emily romantic relationship, so if you don't want to read it feel free to skim those parts, or even give up reading this story altogether (that is, if you can bare to leave Morgan and Garcia in such peril!). Fact is, I'm more interested in writing for myself than all of you, so I'm going to incorporate aspects of JJ/Emily for my own sake, because it's something that I enjoy writing and that I'm passionate about. Viva la homosexuals! ^_^ –Love Becky

-

_**Chapter 4**_

"Pace, where are we going?" asked Garcia, eyes wide as he pulled her out of the car.

"Felix found out about you," Pace fretted, glancing around in terror as he dragged her along by the hand. "Lucy said we had to get out of here, so I'm taking you to my sister's place. You'll like her, I promise, and it's not for long!"

"When we get there can I call my team?" asked Garcia hopefully as she stumbled after him. "Surely this guy hasn't got your sister's house tapped too?" She was joking, but Pace seemed worried.

"Lucy says not to make any contact yet," he recited. "She says to wait for her. Then in the morning she'll come by and we'll drive out of town together—"

Christ…

"Pace, _stop_," Garcia cried, tugging her hand away roughly. Now that they were out in the open, things were getting ridiculous. "Think this through, _please_! We're out of the house. You've effectively lost all of that evidence you were gathering against Felix! The only thing to do now is hand yourself in. I'll make sure they take you seriously, I promise!"

"Lucy's getting everything. She'll meet us in the morning!" Pace maintained desperately. "Please come with me, Penelope. I'm begging you!"

She'd have to be crazy! This guy was a murderer! Sure he seemed harmless enough, but she had to remember that by his judgement she only had 5 days left! She couldn't let him get to her! …Except that this was a man she knew to be carrying a gun, and she currently had no idea at all where she was. Besides that, if he and Lucy disappeared the next morning, they may never be found again. Christ, having no options really did suck.

"…Your face is all over the news, Pace. You can't be out in the open," she sighed eventually, putting her hand back in his. "Where's your sister's house?"

Pace sighed in relief. "It's just up here," he promised, gesturing up the road.

Garcia nodded reluctantly.

"Let's go quickly then."

-

It had all happened so suddenly that Emily wasn't sure how to react. They were two storeys up, the blonde woman, Lucille, was gone and the house was burning. The familiar stench of the kerosene pouring under the door and into the bedroom they now occupied was unmistakeable as it burned their throats, and smoke was beginning to follow it, sneaking under and wafting up toward them. Beside her, JJ struggled to open the window, which was made of heavily reinforced glass and bolted shut. For a moment it seemed to Emily like a strange thing to do, considering that they were so high up. The reality of the situation had yet to hit her. She had yet to realise how little time it would take for the room to fill completely with smoke, and God knew how long for the flames to reach them. Pushing JJ aside suddenly and motioning for her to cover her eyes, Emily took hold of the lamp on the desk beside her and began to smash it against the window. The lampshade dislodged immediately and the bulb burst and shattered, but the metal stand held and commanded small, hesitant cracks to appear on the glass.

…It was taking too long.

JJ was glancing around the room desperately, trying to find an instrument more apt for the job when her eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper floating in the pool of kerosene by the door. She edged towards it and plucked it out quickly, shaking it away from her before opening it up, holding it between thumb and forefinger cautiously. The writing was smudged and barely legible, but she could make out that it was addressed to her. She scanned its marred contents briefly.

"Emily," she croaked. "Penelope was here."

Emily barely glanced at the letter in her hands. "There's another on the ground outside the window. She must have found a way to open it without breaking through. She was trying to contact us."

"If the window had been at the front of the building she might have succeeded…"

Emily started bashing the window again, with even more force this time, such that she began to pant loudly as she swung. "See if you can find what she used, _quickly_."

JJ jumped from foot to foot anxiously as she looked around. "I can't see anything!"

Both paused fretfully to study the window. "There's damage around the screws where it's bolted shut. A screwdriver? Anything that may have been used as one?" With the next strike she managed to break a hole in the window, no larger than a small coin. Excitedly, she tried to chip away from it, and for a short while there was silence.

"This is— This is Garcia's clip on the floor. I put it in when I was doing her hair the night she was taken," JJ breathed suddenly. "It's twisted a bit. Do you think you could use this to open the window?"

"You try to unscrew. I'll hit it. Mind your eyes for the glass."

"I will."

Neither commented on the rising smoke levels in the room. It was a waste of breath to point out something so obvious, but it was getting harder and harder each time they drew breathe. Soon they had resorted to taking turns putting their mouths to the small hole in the window and breathing through it between attempts to crack it further open and, not long after, the first screw popped out. Sirens wailed in the distance, but without a view of the front of the property they had no way of knowing how close they were.

"I've almost got the second one," JJ rasped as Emily began to cough violently. "Almost…"

"This isn't going to work fast enough, I can see the fire under the door," she wheezed. "What else is there here?"

"Nothing, there's _nothing_!" JJ cried. "Keeping smashing at the window!"

Emily persisted but her attacks were coming more weakly, and further between. Spots danced in front of her eyes. Tears sparked at the corners. "Jayj, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I didn't stop you when I knew Pace was the unsub… I didn't want to jeopardise the situation with Lucille and well… talk about jeopardising the situation, right?" she whispered, laughing weakly, bitterly. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve to die lie this. Not because of my mistake…" When JJ made no response the tears started falling even harder. "You know I love you, don't you, Jayj? I do. I always have!"

"Christ, Emily, this is _not_ the time," JJ coughed suddenly. "Don't tell me now that there's nothing I can do about it! ...The third screw is coming out!"

Emily grabbed her and turned her away from the window suddenly, dropping the lamp and bringing that hand up to touch her face. "I love you," she repeated breathlessly. "So much…"

JJ struggled, but she was too weak to break free from Emily's determined grasp. "Em, we _can't_ give up," she wheezed desperately.

"We're two storeys up. What do we do when we get the window open, Jayj? Jump?"

She wasn't trying to be rude or sarcastic, she was just stating the obvious truth. The open window couldn't do them enough good soon enough. They were done.

"For Christ's sake, Em! Let me get at the goddamn _window_!"

"_JJ_, please! Penelope may well be dead somewhere within this building. We're about to follow her. _Don't_ fight with me now," Emily begged, resting her forehead against JJ's exhaustedly. Insane laughter babbled from her raw throat. "I can't believe we're going to die like this…!"

JJ jerked away suddenly and began working at the screws with a new vigour. "Emily, we're going to get this window open and we're going to wait for the fire department, okay?! _That's_ what we're going to do!" The third screw flew loose and splashed against the kerosene puddling on the floor. "If we fail, it won't be for want of trying!"

Reluctantly Emily stepped back and fell to lean against the wall. "But if we do fail…" she croaked quietly. "…Will you kiss me in my last moments? Just once? I've always loved you, JJ… I don't want to die without knowing what it feels like."

JJ glanced at her briefly before moving to work on the last screw, a small smile edging at the corners of her lips. "Emily, if we get out of here I'll never _stop_ kissing you. Take that as your incentive to fight, okay?"

Emily merely chuckled contentedly as her eyes fluttered closed.

-

"Christ! _Where_ are the fucking fire engines?" Morgan yelled as he and Hotch drove up to the house, the first of the FBI SUVs to arrive at Pace's home. Even as he said it sirens wailed redundantly in the background. The building was ablaze before them.

"Where are Emily and JJ? I told them to wait for back-up!" Hotch cried, staring up at the burning building in anguish.

Morgan's brain went into overdrive. Emily. JJ. Penelope… He would _not_ lose his three girls in one week! He couldn't! "_EMILY!"_ he screamed, running up to the building. _"JJ! EMILY!!!"_

-

JJ jerked the final screw out and slumped forward, energy completely expended. The window in its wooden frame slid down to fall between her and the wall and her fingers bled as she pulled it down with her. Dazedly, she stared up at the empty window and watched the swirling smoke filter through. Smiling disbelievingly she glanced at Emily and her heart sank as she found her collapsed on the floor beside her.

"Em," she croaked, running her fingers across Emily's soft cheek. "Em." There was no response. "Em, look! I told you I'd do it! Look, Em!" The tears began to fall then, and JJ entertained vague ideas of pulling Emily up and having her lean out the window in the fresh air, but she couldn't move. It was as though her body, having accomplished its task of unscrewing the window was now completely drained. She had become almost a living corpse.

JJ struggled to grapple with this, the fact of her imminent death, and found her mind becoming desperate. She couldn't think straight, and unconsciously she began to babble to Emily, who was unresponsive. She wasn't sure what she was saying herself, but it seemed to bring her some comfort, and when she was done she pulled herself up over Emily's limp body and pulled her face close to hers, their first kiss then grimly prolonged by her loss of consciousness.

-

Smoke was rising in thick columns from a window to the right of the building and Morgan stared directly up at it, then down at the smashed glass around his feet. There was a piece of crumpled paper laying amongst it and he read it with impossible urgency, ignoring the pain that shot through his stomach as he bent down, or through his fingers as they brushed the broken glass. It was from his baby girl, urging JJ and the team somewhat calmly to come. He almost laughed bitterly at the implication that he would meet no resistance. A very bitter laugh indeed.

The window above him had yet to fill with flames, yet it seemed otherwise empty. All the same, it was the only one that had been smashed open, and he yelled out to Hotch, who called back:

"_Morgan, the trucks are here!"_

The white picket fence was driven over and a ladder complete with cherry picker extended down the alleyway at the side of the building. It was the most terrifying 8 minutes of either of their lives.

-

The scene that awaited firemen Jeff Rodgers and Bill Mason through the top floor window was a devastating one: Two female bodies curled up on the floor, lips pressed lightly together in a perpetual kiss. The instrument used to detach the window was still clutched in the blonde woman's hand, and a brutalised lamp lay close to the other. Neither moved. Smashed glass lay scattered around them and smoke swirled in grey clouds above their heads.

It was only as the fire began to eat away the bedroom door that Jeff thought to move the bodies outside, and it was only upon his doing so that one began to shift and cough.

"Em," she croaked, leaning in to Jeff and clutching at his shirt weakly. "Em, I love you too!" She writhed a little, and then stilled, whispering. "I'm so glad I got to tell you. I thought you were gone… but you're so warm! We must be all right…"

He couldn't respond as he passed her out the window to his partner. He could only pray that she never had to open her eyes again as he knelt to pass the second, limp body out after her. The second she did he knew that she would find herself most cruelly contradicted.

-

Lucy arrived sometime around 6 the next morning and announced that it was time to go, bundling up all that Pace had brought and adding it to one small bag of her own in the trunk of a brand new silver car. Garcia couldn't help but be reluctant to get in, and she glanced back at Pace's sister's home longingly, almost considering running back inside and taking refuge with her. The only thing that stopped her was her assuredness that even if Pace might hesitate to hurt her, Lucy would likely have few qualms about it, and while she co-operated she was safe… at least for the next four days.

At this point, Garcia could only assume that Pace was being deceived— that Lucy was playing to his delusions and taking him far away from any evidence of 'Felix's' crimes. For this reason, she doubted her letter had ever been sent, and knew that it could be any length of time before the bodies she knew to be in the basement of Number 12 were found. She also knew that there was very little chance of _her_ being found once Lucy drove them across state lines. She was driving a new car to an unspecified destination in a different PD's jurisdiction; The chances of anyone figuring out her plans within 4 days were minimal… and yet Garcia had taken pity on Pace, and she hadn't wanted him to disappear before telling her more about the man he claimed was the mastermind of this plot. It was all her own doing, she realised, and she doubted she'd have an opportunity to be alone with Pace again any time soon.

Similarly, as they drove off down an unfamiliar country road, she realised that agreeing to follow Pace to his sister's place had been a perfect signature on her own death warrant, and surprised herself by being unmoved by the notion. Perhaps, she mused, she had somehow convinced herself in the past few days that she was already dead.

-

Much to Morgan's both relief and horror, JJ became lucid in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Numerous times, she plucked the oxygen mask off her face and asked where Emily was, only to have the irritated EMT fix it back on again. No reply was given.

Honestly Morgan had no idea how Emily was at that moment. When he'd hopped, on impulse, into JJ's ambulance they'd still been trying to revive her at the scene. At this point, he couldn't say even whether she was alive or dead, and he felt immensely guilty for that. Especially given that without knowing there was absolutely no feasible way in which he could comfort her.

Things only got worse.

-

By 12:30 the next afternoon another man had been killed in Washington DC, a _hoard_ of other, similar murders had been discovered in 6 different states, with the timeline allowing for just as many unsubs, 3 badly burned bodies, sans brains, had been found in the basement of Pace Stevenson's home, and the mysterious 'Lucille' had yet to be identified. Meanwhile in the hospital, Morgan had yet to hear whether or not Garcia's remains were among those found in the house, and JJ was asking questions about Emily, who had been miraculously revived but was yet to regain consciousness. He had sat by her side all night and well into the day, despite the nurses who had repeatedly tried to wave him away.

JJ's throat was raw to the point where it was near impossible for her to speak most of the time, but Morgan never left her. He knew from experience that it was never a good idea to leave someone alone in their pain. It only became a million times more difficult to deal with…

"Emily," JJ whispered hoarsely as she sipped from a glass of water that Morgan held up to her lips. "Can you ask?"

Morgan lowered the glass and tried to smile reassuringly before patting her shoulder, getting to his feet and leaving to do just that. When he returned he found her coughing violently, with tears streaming down her face. A nurse to her right was trying to calm her down, and so he moved to the other side.

"JJ, are you going to calm down so I can tell you how Emily's doing?" he asked gently, and JJ nodded between helpless sobs, making a gurgled noise in affirmation.

A few minutes later she had quietened completely. The nurse nodded her thanks and left them alone.

"How?" she croked.

"She's still resting at the moment, but she's looking fine. As beautiful as always, right?"

A few quick huffs of breath indicated a laugh still suffering from the effects of the smoke on her lungs. "Beautiful," she repeated falteringly.

"If you let me get you a wheelchair the doctor says I can bring you to see her," Morgan went on. "Would that make you feel better? Or do you think it would upset you?"

JJ raised an eyebrow, as though to say _'What do _you_ think?'_ and he chuckled quietly.

"Both, right?" he interpreted and she nodded. "I'll be right back."

JJ made an odd anxious noise in her throat as Morgan wheeled her down the hall and twice he stopped to ask if she was okay, only serving to frustrate her further. The ride up those 3 floors in the elevator was the longest either of them had ever experienced, but finally they were at Emily's door.

"Sh—She's okay?" JJ whispered, halting him as he prepared to push it open. "Still looks the same?"

Morgan assured her that it was so and she reached for the handle herself, though it took a little extra push from Morgan to actually open the heavy door in her weakened state.

"Beautiful as always," JJ repeated tearfully as he pushed her towards the bed. "When—" She coughed quietly before trying again. "When will she come to?"

"The nurse says she'll probably be awake by the end of the day," Morgan explained. "She didn't take it so well as you— most likely because trying to smash the window open caused her to exert more energy. She became out of breath and inhaled more of the smoke. They induced a coma to stabilise her but they'll bring her back soon, I promise. She's doing well."

JJ closed her eyes and rested her hands on top of Emily's guiltily. "I made you a promise," she whispered. "'If we get out of here…'"

"I can get some lunch and leave you in here if you want?" Morgan suggested, rubbing a hand over her shoulder awkwardly, and JJ nodded.

"Thank you."

"I won't be far if you need me," he reminded her.

"Thank you," she repeated, and he left her alone with Emily.

After all, no amount of fancy equipment in that hospital could make her feel a wit better than just seeing that woman's face, and feeling her breathe…

-

"_Morgan, are you with JJ?"_ asked Hotch as Morgan picked up his cell phone (earning a few glares from the hospital workers around him.

"Not at the moment, I'm having lunch. She's in with Emily," Morgan explained.

"Are they both okay?"

"Emily's still unconscious."

Morgan could almost_ feel _Hotch frowning on the other end of the line.

"How's JJ holding up?"

"All right, considering…" Morgan trailed off awkwardly. "I may be stretching what she said, Hotch, but what I've gathered is that just before Emily passed out, she confessed that she was in love with JJ, believing that she was going to die. It's a lot for someone to process in a short space of time. I think JJ is struggling."

"Of course she is," Hotch agreed quietly. "Is it possible for you to come down to the BAU? I know you don't want to leave the girls but this case is turning out to be bigger than we ever imagined, and we've new evidence to suggest that, for some impossible reason, Garcia is still alive."

Morgan felt his heart constrict in his chest. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about her, to his own horror, and now that Hotch had brought her up it was as though his heart was breaking all over again.

_She wasn't in the basement._

"Of course," Morgan replied, his voice obviously strained.

"Let me make it clear that I do _not_ want you out in the field," Hotch went on, "But we need your mind on this case now more than ever."

"Let me just tell JJ—"

"Send a nurse," Hotch interrupted seriously. "We were brought into this game far too late. These killings have been going on for months. There's no time to lose now if we want to come out on top."

Morgan agreed and hung up the phone, staring at it disbelievingly. A group of serial killers, at least 6 of them, killing for months unconnected... It was unbelievable, and to think that they weren't even close to catching _one_ was even more so.

"For Christ's sake," he whispered to himself, still staring at the phone he had just disconnected. "Hang on, Baby Girl."

-

Kevin Lynch felt completely out of sorts substituting for Penelope Garcia once again. He'd expected to want to _kill_ Morgan when he saw him— it had always been clear, though she'd never said it, that his girlfriend had left him for that man… and yet, it would have almost been like holding a grudge against someone as they lay on their deathbed.

Morgan no longer appeared to be the charismatic, charming man who had stolen Garcia's heart. Without her he was not even a shadow of that man. He was completely empty. So as they worked, neither had the will to fight with one another, and when he caught a lead, Morgan was the first he called.

"Morgan, I pulled Pace Stevenson's school records and it turns out he went to school with a girl named Lucille Vincent, whose current address isn't far from Pace's. Both dropped out the year before graduation, as did 5 others, who have now dispersed around the United States. There's one for every state where the murders occurred except Washington DC."

Morgan nodded across the room at Hotch, who immediately picked up the extension. "Lynch, can you email us the names?"

"Yes, I can, but I thought you'd also like to know that an IST teacher at the school resigned the same year that those students left and still resides in Washington DC," Lynch added. "He could account for the murders over there. Name's Felix Kiernan."

"IST?" Hotch repeated slowly.

"Information Software and Technology," Lynch explained. "He also hosted an after-school club called the AFLA. Some sort of sci-fi book club as far as I can tell. Viewed with a bit of scepticism around the school. Anyway, each one of our drop outs was a member."

"Shit," Morgan muttered, glancing at Hotch, who was wearing an identical look.

"The Anti-Futurist Literature Association."

Morgan shook his head to clear it. "Keep looking, Lynch. We're going to head off to DC."

"Will do," Lynch agreed. "And Morgan…?"

"Yeah?"

"…You find that 'Baby Girl' of yours, okay?"

Morgan grinned widely. "I will. I promise."

Hotch hung up and immediately started dialling again. "Reid," he said seriously. "Quit what you're doing and meet us at the airport in twenty minutes… No. …No. …We've got a lead."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Time Will Not**_

_Author's Note:_ This chapter is a little shorter than usual, I'm afraid, but the next is sure to make up for it! Lot's of love, Becky.

-

_**Chapter 5**_

Discretely, and with some degree of shame, Reid had to admit that he had been avoiding Morgan for the past few days. Not for any inherently cruel purpose, but because he was, as usual, at a complete loss for words when dealing with trials of an emotional nature. When he stood near Morgan it seemed like all he could think about was the percentage of abductees who were dead in the first 24, 48, 72… Garcia was beyond all that now, and the chances of her being alive were… well, it went against all statistical precedents, and he couldn't help but think, despite his love for his friend, that it was futile to continue to search for her when there were possibly 7 serial killers on the loose. And, of course, they were all very much alive.

In any case, seeing Morgan for the first time in those past few days was awkward. More awkward still because he was certain that Morgan knew that he hadn't even visited the girls in the hospital for fear of having to make contact with him.

…Only, it was a thousand times worse now…

"Morgan—"

Morgan froze as he saw the look on Reid's face, helpless and guilty, and he shrugged it off. "Don't give me that look, genius, just work your magic on this case like usual. Get my baby girl home safely."

He was trying to reassure him. He didn't realise that his words only served to compound the guilt he was feeling at his lack of faith in Garcia.

"…But—"

"For Christ's sake, Reid. Read the file," Morgan sighed, kicking back in his seat irritably. "There's time enough for us to all get therapy when we've got her home!"

Reid's mouth close, then opened, and then closed again. He nodded. Now was _not_ the time to unleash some grim statistic about abduction victims, and of course, there was nothing _else_ that he could say… Reid glanced down at the file in his hands, getting heavier by the day it seemed, and scanned over the last few pages. He admitted that the fact that Garcia had clearly been inside the house before it burned down, if one judged from the contents of the letter she had written, and the fact that she had not been amongst the bodies in the basement, suggested that she may well still be alive (why not dump her with the rest of the bodies, after all?), and yet he was sceptical. _Why_ keep _her_ alive? Not that he was complaining, of course, but one couldn't help but wonder..,

"If our unsub has yet to kill Garcia, then she must be performing some sort of task, and performing it better than any of the others found in that basement," Reid stated, still staring at the file as all eyes on the plane turned to him. "It could be her connection to profilers— she may be doing a better job of placating him by playing into his delusions… But it could also be the fact that _we've_ become involved since she's been abducted. If you think about it, our original profile that he was protecting her mightn't be far off. He could be protecting her from the other killers, and not only her, but other possible targets— this unsub may _want_ us to find him so that he can talk to us. He may be paranoid and think it's the only way. And if he's suspected by the other members of his group he can hardly walk into a police station and then expect them to continue trusting him."

"But if he wants us to find him, why blow up the house?" asked Morgan gruffly. "Why run away?"

"But Pace Stevenson _didn't_ blow up the house," Reid reminded him, glancing at Hotch for confirmation. "According to JJ it was a woman named Lucille. Pretty, blonde. It's possible that she's manipulating him— you said himself that he seemed a rather weak character...?"

"It would explain why he feared going to the police and being caught out when all of the other members of his group are so far away— she's dirty."

Hotch was silent. It wasn't that he didn't agree it was just that… "If that's true, Garcia may not have a lot of time," he considered lowly. "How long will it take him to consider her useless like the others?"

"Well yes, on the one hand that's true," Reid agreed, "But on the other… If we assume that this Lucille is the dominant of the two, then she may rather keep Garcia alive. Unlike Pace, Lucille would _rather_ she be useless. She would keep her alive in order to prevent Pace finding a better target."

"So essentially the question is: do we up the media coverage and make it seem like we're closing in so that _Pace_ doesn't kill her, or do we cut it down to next to nothing and make it seem like we're completely lost so that _Lucille_ doesn't kill her," Morgan muttered bitterly. "Each unsub has an entirely different agenda…"

"We need to find out fast and for certain which of them is the dominant of the two," said Reid. "When we land in DC we can ask around the school and then act accordingly."

The other two nodded silently, and without asking he knew what both were thinking: With no idea where Garcia was or what was going down there, she could die any moment and they wouldn't know…

The plane ride was short, of course, but it felt so much longer with such grim thoughts on their minds, and by the time they reached the school it was almost midday. It did help, however that everyone at the school had rather firm opinions on the pair…

"Before last year," said one girl, who identified herself simply as Phillie as they waited outside the principal's office, "Lucille wouldn't have even _looked_ at Pace. She'd have considered it beneath her. But ever since he joined that stupid book club, they've been inseparable. Really freaky the kids in that club… Stopped happening when Mr Kiernan resigned 'cause there was just no interest anymore... Funny that there was _ever_ interest if you ask me."

"And what was Mr Kiernan like?" asked Hotch, his typical straight face and dull tone making the student anxious.

"You mean, like, was he a good teacher?" Phillie confirmed slowly. "I guess he was alright. I had him one year for IST, you know, computer stuff… It was funny because whenever something went wrong he seemed to get really _angry_ with the computers, but never with us."

"And he was really into this club?"

"Yeah…" Phillie agreed slowly. "Like I said, freaky stuff… He used to go on about it at the end of each lesson, like promoting it. I guess they were down on numbers or something. We always just kind of laughed it off." She shrugged. "Like anyone's got time for that shit, right?" When he didn't reply she wondered if maybe she oughtn't have sworn at an FBI agent…

"Jesus, Hotch, quit scaring the kid with that look," Morgan sighed eventually, shaking his head. "It's times like these you really wish that JJ and Em were around…" He turned to Phillie. "You're probably not comfortable talking to a bunch of older men about this stuff, but would you like to talk to our friend Spence? He's a bit of a geek, but he's completely harmless."

Phillie glanced around and Reid almost blushed as her eyes settled on him. "Thanks guys," he muttered, causing Morgan to almost smile.

"Completely harmless," he repeated, and Phillie agreed, so he and Hotch left Reid with her as they entered the principal's office.

-

"This is where we'll stop for now," Lucy said after driving well into the afternoon. At first Garcia had taken notice of the signs but now… she had no idea where she was.

"How long will we stay here?" asked Pace, opening the door for Garcia and taking her hand to help her out. "A few days? A week? Will the FBI find us here?"

"'The FBI is capable of anything,' isn't that what you said Pace?" Lucy reminded him evasively. "That's why you went out and took one of their own— to get them finally involved in what should have been a federal case months ago."

"Yes, of course, you're right," Pace agreed, smiling at Garcia reassuringly. "You heard her, you'll be back home in no time. The FBI will come for you."

"We'll stay here two days at the most and then move on," Lucy explained. "Pace, you wait here with the girl. I'll book a room as _I_ haven't got my face all over the news…"

Garcia frowned as she left and Pace stayed put as commanded. "Wouldn't it be better if the man at the hotel desk _did_ recognise you?" she suggested, when Lucy was gone. "That way he could call the police and bring him here."

Pace just shook his head assuredly. "You worry too much, Penelope. Lucy has it all figured out, I promise!"

Garcia hid a frown. "Tell me about Lucy," she asked mock-casually, and a smile broke out over Pace's face at the request.

"She's the most amazing girl I've ever met!" he breathed happily. "I mean, I always knew she was beautiful, but when she joined Felix's _book club_ I just knew she was perfect for me, because she's _smart_ too. It's my fault all this happened. She wanted to back out and I was too scared… So I've got to let her get us out of this. If it ends badly she'll never forgive me!"

"But if _you_ fix this, Pace, she'll think you're brilliant," Garcia counter-argued. "If _you're_ the one who gets the police to come in!"

Pace smiled sadly. "I'd only mess it up again, Penelope. Our idea to send the letter to your friend failed and she was angry at me. She sent it and no one ever came! …I promise, Lucy will get you home a lot quicker than I could…"

Garcia was becoming desperate now, but before she had any sort of chance to respond, Lucy returned.

"We're in Room 6, just around the corner," she stated flatly, tossing a key over at Pace, who fumbled before catching it awkwardly.

"Shall I get the bags out of the trunk, Lucy?" he asked hopefully but, callously, she rejected him.

"No, don't touch them. I will. We've got to look after the evidence."

"Of course," Pace agreed quickly. "What shall I do?"

"Get the door for me."

Garcia found herself bristling as Pace shrunk back disappointedly.

"Of course, Lucy," he replied, as though he was thinking that perhaps this was all he was fit for after all. Then, as they walked over to the room he seemed to pause and realise something, looking up at Lucy in a new light. "…I'm so glad you're here," he said honestly. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, but I know that I can stop Felix with your help!"

Garcia watched as Lucy's lip quirked slightly. No other response registered, and apparently Pace wasn't expecting one. He walked on contentedly. She scowled.

The room Lucy has booked was a twin room, and apparently it was a given that Pace would be on the floor because that was where he immediately went and sat. Pitifully, he reminded her of a puppy, with no choice but to love the woman who fed him, and the cruel comparison that her mind drew between her friend Reid and that emotional invalid was immediately squashed. At least Reid had some dignity!

"I wish the FBI would hurry up and find us," Pace whispered as he crossed his legs and rested his elbows on them, bored. "I'm getting tired of waiting, and Tommy killed another man yesterday. I heard it on the radio in the car…"

Without replying, Lucy flicked on the television to the news channel, and sure enough their story was playing, as it always seemed to be. Garcia grimaced as a familiarly sensationalist news anchor came on screen. She seemed to be saying how useless the FBI investigators were, and how they were far from finding any evidence at all as to the killers that had taken one member of their team and hospitalised two others…

Garcia felt her heart flop into her stomach at the news. She almost felt as though she was going to be sick, and Pace offered her a sympathetic look. Then, suddenly, he cried out with far more passion as his destroyed home appeared on screen.

"That's my house! It's gone!" he yelled, and immediately Lucy glared at him.

"Be quiet, you fool! These walls are paper thin!" she snapped roughly. Then she seemed to force herself to lighten her tone. "…You didn't think Felix would possibly leave it standing once he realised you were onto him?" she questioned, making him feel silly. "You know a lot that could damage him, Pace. You must accept that."

Pace nodded dully.

"_The FBI have released a statement regarding a person of interest: a middle-aged man with dark hair and glasses driving a blue FWD…"_

Lucy flicked the television back off. "Felix," she said, as though it were obvious, and Pace nodded, almost shaking in terror as he rocked back and forward.

Garcia nodded too as Lucy turned to her, but she was frowning. She hadn't heard any mention of the bodies in the basement, but perhaps they'd been found… hopefully they had. And yet, she could only pray that Morgan knew somehow that she was not among them. With only three days left, they couldn't give up on her now, could they?

-

"Do you think this was the right thing to do?" asked Reid, as he diverted yet another call to the tip-line about a middle-aged man in a FWD that didn't exist. "With no way to measure the reaction of the unsubs, it's quite a risk…"

"So is doing nothing," Morgan muttered, glancing at Rossi who was sleeping on his desk (though not for want of trying to stay awake).

Suddenly Hotch exited the local sheriff's office and approached them. "I've received confirmation that the Bureau's now got eyes on every one of the members of that club except for Pace Stevenson and Lucille Vincent. Four have shown signs of suspicious behaviour in the past few hours, and we're basically waiting for a valid excuse to bring them in. Reid, you and I are taking over from the men tailing Felix Kiernan in two hours, so get yourself ready. Morgan, get Lynch on the line. Dave..."

Rossi was unresponsive, and Hotch shook him lightly.

"Dave."

Rossi groaned and looked up, quirking a confused eyebrow at his boss, standing over him.

"Dave, usually I'd tell you to go home and get some rest, but right now we need you on this. You, Lynch, and the other techs we've gathered next door are to fax pictures of Pace and Lucille through to every motel on the Jefferson Davison Highway, where Pace was last spotted at a McDonalds Drive-Through. Keep in mind that we believe them to be headed into DC, most likely toward Felix Kiernan's residence."

"Right," Rossi yawned, heading into the next room, and Hotch turned to the local bureau staff still milling around uncertainly. He wracked his brains for anything at all that he could do.

"I want checkpoints set up at intervals down the highway. Staff them yourselves if you have to, but try to get the local police involved. Tell them not to be put off if a second female passenger resembling Penelope Garcia appears to be there of her own free will, or even if she states explicitly if she is. This is a complicated game we're playing and we have to pull out all the stops." Hotch nodded firmly at the incredulous looks on the faces of the men. "Lucille Vincent won't know that we're aware of who she is, as we haven't released that information to the media, which is to our advantage. Bookings at motels and public appearances will all be made by her. You may never see Pace or Garcia. Look out for Vincent, and if you've the slightest suspicion… detain that person, as you've the right to do for 72 hours. Wait for back up. Do you understand?"

Murmurs of assent drifted around the room, and Hotch turned his back on them, raising a hand to his aching head. He was just about to sit down and have a quick drink then when his phone rang. It was JJ.

"_Hotch, I want to be flown out,"_ she stated seriously.

It was ridiculous. He'd heard from Morgan she state she'd been in, and he imagined that she'd been practising speaking all morning just to get those words out properly. Yet despite those best efforts, her voice remained raw and croaky. "JJ, forget it. You're off this case," Hotch sighed, taking a gulp of water that only seemed to make him even thirstier.

"_Hotch, please! I can't just sit here!" _JJ begged desperately. _"Between Garcia, off God-knows-where, and Emily unconscious here… I feel so incredibly helpless! Please bring me in! Let me stay at headquarters with Morgan! He was shot! I'm just suffering from smoke inhalation, goddamnit!"_

"JJ, it's utterly inconceivable," Hotch replied, a note of frustration evident in his tired voice. "You obviously have no realistic conception at all of just how close both of you came to losing your lives in that house! For Christ's sake, we thought you were gone long before we arrived!" Sighing again, he tried to lighten his tone for her sake. "JJ, you'd just be twiddling your thumbs over here, and honestly you'd be in the way. Why don't you relax and wait for Emily to wake up. I'm sure she'll want you there when she does."

A short silence assured Hotch that he'd hit a nerve, and he almost considered apologising before she interrupted his thoughts. _"They're saying they're going to wait until she's a bit better to take her out of her coma,"_ she whispered. _"And I… I can't be around here anymore."_

"Are you still on the respirator?" Hotch sighed, checking his watch anxiously.

"_No."_

"Then ask if you can be discharged. I'm not saying I'll have you over here right away but see how you do. Take a walk and get some real food. You'll feel better."

A disappointed silence ensued at the other end of the line. _"Yeah… Okay,"_ she agreed finally. _"I'll do that."_

Hotch nodded, relieved. "All right. Take care now…" He paused. "…Ring me later and tell me how you're doing. I'll want to know."

"_Thanks, Hotch_," JJ agreed. _"Please, please keep me posted. I'll turn my cell on if I leave the hospital."_

"Good girl," said Hotch, glancing around awkwardly. "Feel better."

She hung up and Hotch fell back into his chair, letting all attempts at a decent posture just slip away in his hopelessness…

…Christ, this was a mess.

-

It was utterly inconceivable to Garcia how a man in a position of trust like that of a teacher could abuse that trust and effectively destroy the livelihoods of 6 young students. Pace was a sweet kid! He should be fooling around trying to figure out a balance between girls and study, or testing out how much liquor he could drink, or how much pot he could smoke, at a party before he became completely wasted... It was an irresponsible way to live, but it was a natural part of growing up, she'd always thought. All college students tested their boundaries a bit, teenagers too. It wasn't fair that Pace hadn't got the chance. He was just so completely _whipped_ by that Lucy… But that wasn't even the worst of it!

The worst of it was that he had absolutely no idea just how whipped he was! He had _no idea_ how completely she held him in the palm of her hand! Effectively, every word he uttered to her was in thanks. But, really, thanks for _what_? Ruining his life? She wasn't worthy of that boy…

Every time those two spoke she felt some sort of deep moral urge to put a stop to it —to tell her to just, just _back off_, okay??— but in the end, she found, she was just like him. She wasn't going to naysay anything that came out of Lucy's mouth simply because she was the dominant party. She was beautiful, brazen, and confident, not to mention _armed_… She was the sort of person you _glanced_ at, for barely an instant, and in that instant were faced with everything that was wrong about _you_ and _your_ life.

On the outside, she was perfect. Impossibly so...

It was hard not to resent her, hard not to adore her.

"I'm going outside to make a telephone call," Lucy announced, throwing a glance from Garcia, on the bed, to Pace, on the floor. "Don't touch the television or my bags while I'm gone. I won't be long."

Bitterly Garcia realised that there was no further reasoning required. She said 'don't touch' and he didn't touch. He didn't question why he shouldn't if what was in that bag was what he had been told was in that bag. He just took it for granted that whatever she said was law… And Garcia was sick of it!

"Pace, I'm going to look in Lucy's bag," she said simply, and immediately he was scrambling to his feet, working himself up into a panic.

"You can't! Lucy said not to!" he pleaded. "_Please don't_!"

Garcia pouted cutely. "I won't touch anything," she promised. "I just want to see what evidence you have against Felix. I'm an FBI agent, I can help you."

"I can tell you what she'll have brought," Pace promised, as though it were the same thing entirely. "There are letters he's sent me. Printouts of emails I had to delete from the computer, faxes. I've got his instructions, correspondences, everything! I promise we have enough! I've been meticulous about keeping it _all_!"

Garcia cringed at his obvious faith in Lucy. "And you're sure it's all there? You watched her pack?" she asked slowly.

Pace appeared stricken.

"Well no, but I'm sure she did!" he protested. "She's got a lot of sense, Lucy. She may even have found more!"

"But can I _see_ them, Pace? I'd be careful," Garcia promised. "Please let me see them."

'_Please let me prove that she's deceiving you!' _she thought desperately.

He faltered.

The doorknob jiggled.

Pace dropped to the floor and began to pick at his fingernails innocently.

Garcia sighed and lay back down.

The night that followed was long.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note__: _Continuity issues here. Lord, how I loathe them but there you go. "The best laid plans of mice and men" and so forth… For a few sentences at the end of chapter 3 it was JJ who talked to Hotch and knew that Pace was the unsub. In chapter 4 it was Emily who knew and JJ who was oblivious as she entered the house. To clarify, if it comes up again, I'm going to continue in that vein, with it being Emily Hotch talked to at the end of chapter 3 rather than JJ. Hope you like this next chapter. I know it's a bit choppy, but essentially I write fluff, nothing so dramatic! - Love, Becky.

-

_**Chapter 6**_

He'd been driving through the dark for three hours now and the black SUV was still tailing him, albeit at an appropriate distance, even as he pulled onto the highway. He went on for a few miles, keeping the necessary exit in mind and then swerved some, pulling over just ahead of it. He waited a few moments and then got out of the driver's side, waving as the SUV came by. It pulled over cleanly. Its occupants had been watching him, after all. They'd observed him cleanly as he went off the road, and probably knew that it was a sham too, not that that mattered.

-

Hotch threw Reid a warning glance as he moved to open the door. "Don't do anything reckless, Reid. Let's just see what he wants." Reid nodded slowly and Hotch tapped the gun holstered at his waist— a sign to be prepared for anything.

Felix Kiernan jogged up to the window, waving and grinning stupidly. "Hey fellas," he puffed as Hotch rolled the window down. "Got a minute? The brakes aren't working right on my car…"

Hotch nodded and waved a hand casually. "Got any history of it?"

"Not really," said Felix, glancing back at the car anxiously. "Doesn't turn too well anymore. Real old thing. Got any ideas?" He motioned turning a steering wheel with his hands.

"I'm not much for cars, but I could take a look," Hotch agreed, and in the millisecond it took for him to glance down at the door handle, he found a gun propped up to his temple. Reid hissed in a breath beside him, and dragging his eyes upward Hotch saw a second gun, in Kiernan's left hand, aimed across the seat at him. Neither moved. Both had _far_ too much experience with guns to attempt it.

Trust sluggish, slothful humans to make even cold-blooded murder swift and uncomplicated…

"You're in control here, Felix," Hotch reminded him lowly. "Tell us what you'd like us to do."

"I— I want your weedy little sidekick out of the car!" Felix demanded falteringly. "Tell him to get out, now!"

Hotch didn't take his eyes away from Felix for an instant. "Do as he says, Reid," he confirmed.

Reid faltered.

"If you don't, Felix here will shoot us both. Is that right, Felix?" he went on calmly.

Felix nodded roughly, a bit of loose spittle flying into Hotch's face as he confirmed this. "Yeah, that's right! I want you out of this car and into mine, right now! And toss your gun over to me while you're at it. That's right. I know you're FBI. Now do it!"

Reid stared at Hotch's half-turned face disbelievingly and he stepped out of the car, dropping his gun on the road and kicking it over as he did so. "Into your car?" he repeated, loud enough that the receivers on the other end of his earpiece could hear, while also simply stalling for time.

"Yeah," Felix breathed, indicating it briefly with the gun pointed in Reid's direction.

Reid began to walk slowly, aware that both villain and cop watched him as he did so. Then, the moment that he was safely inside, all hell broke loose.

Hotch threw his door open, knocking Felix backwards and causing him to shoot randomly before landing hard, sprawled across the asphalt highway. He winced as the bullet pierced his thigh, but pulled himself up into the empty window's frame, using it to balance himself as he shot at Felix's gun arm a few times. Two of the three shots hit. The gun fell away and Felix howled in pain.

Breathing deeply in and then out, Hotch glanced over at the old blue car, which Felix had been driving, and from which Reid had yet to emerge.

He paused.

Called out.

Watched helplessly as the door slammed shut.

And the car sped off.

A brief glance through the window, open on the passenger side, confirmed his worst suspicions, and glancing down at Felix, twitching and cradling his limp arm on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes, Hotch found himself feeling something queer, almost akin to pity, for the men, apparently numerous, who had fallen prey to Lucille Vincent's charm, for surely she was the mastermind of all this. He picked up his gun and withdrew a pair of cuffs, flinching as they brushed his injured thigh, before using them to tie Felix Kiernan's unresisting wrists behind his back.

What a fool he'd been.

To let another of his team fall prey to that wolf in sheep's clothing.

-

As he drove, Hotch shamefully avoided all questions as to his own state. Yes, keeping his foot on the accelerator was killing him right now, but it wasn't like he had any other option, was it? If he lost Lucille and Reid now there'd be no hope of finding them. He had to catch up before they got into a densely populated area and he lost them altogether, and that meant sticking out the pain and working closely with the feds at headquarters. Like it or not.

He'd called for helicopters first, and then for Rossi, to whom he now shouted every second sentence. Felix, meanwhile, was acting by nature uncooperative, speaking of Lucille's good favour and what a very good job he'd done, sounding nothing like the man Hotch had plucked weeping off the ground not long ago…

"_Hotch, the copters are en route to your signal as we speak, but contact with Reid has been terminated. You're going to have to lead the way. Can you see them?"_ Rossi asked quickly, seriously.

"Yes, but they're about to turn," Hotch muttered, flicking the siren on with his left hand.

"_See a speed limit anywhere around you?"_

"Uh yeah... 60."

"_Break it. Now."_

Hotch didn't need to be told, he was going almost double that and barely slowed as he turned the corner. All he could say was thank _God_ the roads emptied at night in this part of town… "I think we're heading further into the city though. I don't know how long I can keep this speed up."

Rossi swore on the other end of the line. "_Uh, okay, look around you, Hotch. Do you know where you are?"_

"I passed this mall on the way to the school— Jesus, Rossi. That's where they're headed then."

"_Okay, thanks Hotch. I'll put that through and send a team up."_

He hung up and Hotch flinched as a particularly violent jolt of pain sparked up his leg, turning a bad corner. In the backseat Felix jabbered away, reassuring himself of his own worth apparently. Hotch tuned it out as the phone rang again and he clicked it on speaker.

"Hotch," he grunted.

"_Hi, Hotch, it's JJ."_

Hotch gritted his teeth. This was really _not_ the time, and yet he was unable to turn her away. "JJ, hi."

"_I'm just calling to let you know how we're doing like you asked…"_

-

"Rossi, this is bullshit. You are _not_ leaving me behind. This _Lucille_ knows where my girl is, damn it!"

Rossi's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, she does!" he snapped. "Does that mean we let you fly off in a rage and wring her throat at first sighting? Derek, there is absolutely no reason for you to be out in the field. There is absolutely no reason for you to be out of the _hospital_! Can you even begin to comprehend how _childish_ you're being?"

Morgan stood up combatively. "You don't understand," he accused him.

"Why because I divorced three wives?" Rossi challenged, scowling. "At least I gave them each a chance. You've been skirting around Penelope for so long it's sickening! And then when something happens to her you suddenly get on your high horse like you're more affected than anyone else! Well guess what, we're _all_ upset, and until you get off your ass and _do_ something about the way you feel about her, you've no more right to her than anyone else!"

"So give me a chance to do that already!"

Rossi growled and then smirked a little at his response. "I will," he promised, tone softening a little. "You'll have a thousand opportunities to tell her you love her once I bring her home. Now, if you don't want to sit around then hop in a copter, but I'm not putting you in an SUV tonight. You're not ready and we don't need anymore casualties."

Morgan paused briefly before knocking fists with Rossi apologetically. "Keep me posted," he told him. "I'm going up."

Rossi nodded firmly and picked up the phone again. "Yeah, hold on, Hotch. I'm getting into an SUV as we speak."

-

"You know, _Agent Hotchner_…" Felix mused, tone overly calm now as they drove the familiar route to the school, "There really was no ideological basis for my crimes at all… You say you're a profiler, so how do you reconcile that? My ideology is not the basis for my murder, but my murder the basis for my ideology?"

"It's actually fairly common," Hotch muttered through gritted teeth. "We see it in the Cuban Revolution: Fidel Castro was a revolutionary, not a communist. Essentially his communist tendencies were a way of obtaining funding from Russia, and besides that… no revolution had ever really 'suceeded' in the eyes of the world before the Bolshevik Revolution. Not in the sense that things ever really got any better for them. A communist revolution must simply have seemed to be the best _sort_ of revolution to have."

"You're sharp," Felix stated, grinning. "And you're right too. It's why I took this job, after all… I teach because I like to mess with the minds of young adults. I _enjoy_ turning them into serial killers."

Hotch ignored this statement and tried to focus on the road, but between the dim fogginess of his mind, the throbbing pain in his thigh, and his almost tangible sickness at the prospect of entering Felix's mind, it was becoming more and more difficult.

Blood seeped lazily over the seat…

-

"Agent Morgan, we've got a visual on the subject's car, and the SUV in pursuit, but we're getting into a more densely populated area now. We probably won't be able to land anytime soon."

Morgan disconnected his seatbelt and glanced over the pilot's shoulder briefly. "What's our location?"

"Currently: somewhere between 300 and 400 Gruntler Street."

Morgan nodded. "Can you confirm that we're en route to the school?"

"It seems likely," the pilot confirmed, and Morgan picked up his cell phone.

"JJ?"

"_Morgan, I'm in the hospital, just let me duck outside, I'm being glared at… Okay, what's up?" _JJ asked. _"I tried calling Hotch but he sounded preoccupied."_

"Probably because he'd just been shot is currently in the midst of a high speed car chase," Morgan explained quickly, not even pause to register the impact of his words. "I need you to make some calls and broadcast a radio and TV warning to stay off the streets between Gruntler and the Benjamin Franklin Elementary School, 109 Pierson-Cramer Street. Can you do that?"

"_Shit… Of course I can. Give me ten minutes."_

-

JJ hung up her phone hurriedly and was about to redial when a nurse interrupted her.

"Excuse me, Miss? You're not Jennifer Jareau, who was in Room 412 this morning, are you?"

JJ replied anxiously that yes, she was, whilst trying to keep the street names in her head.

"Oh good." The nurse appeared relieved. "There's a Miss Emily Prentiss in 730 asking for you. She's just awoken and she's rather disorientated, if you will…?" She stepped aside and held the door open for her expectantly.

But JJ frowned.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "It'll have to wait. There's something I've yet to do."

The nurse seemed confused. "But Miss Jareau, she's—"

"Tell her I'm sorry. It's really important," JJ gushed, and she fled the scene, dialling as she went. "And tell her I love her!"

-

Reid cowered, in his mind ridiculously, pressed against the car door. Yes, she was holding a gun, but she was also a five foot blonde female with bones that looked as though they might snap if he so much as brushed them with a fingertip, and despite the very real danger of the situation he felt like a fool.

He'd tried the door and the window both several times and found them both locked via a panel at the driver's side. Of course, this only added to his perceived humiliation… He'd been beaten by a tiny woman and a child safety lock, for Christ's sake!'

The hand nearest to him, the one holding the gun, barely wavered as they sped around each corner, the streets oddly bare even for that time of night. Truly, he envied her calm. He himself, after all, may as well have been a lamb off to slaughter (regardless of whether or not another lamb was doing the slaughtering)…

If he moved, she assured him, not only would she kill him on the spot, but she'd also go back and shoot that 'blonde hussy' of a technical analyst he worked with, and every so often was also behoved to remind him that Hotch was likely dying as they spoke, though that may have been an exaggeration. She must know that Reid had never seen where he had been shot, only heard the gunfire… Or so he hoped.

That was one instance in which he really wouldn't mind the girl getting the better of him.

-

Atypically, Garcia resisted as Pace tried to pull her into the car, shaking him off her violently.

"We have to do as Lucy says now!" he pleaded. "She's finally given me responsibility, both with you and the bags, and I can't fail her!" There were tears in his eyes. "It's like you said, I've got a chance to make things _right_ with her!"

Of course, Garcia hadn't meant it this way. She'd only meant is as it applied to her own ends…

"For Christ's sake, Pace! Give me that back and let go!"

It was no great effort to shake him off, and she may well have fussed more than necessary, scrawny thing that he was, but in any case, when she'd got her way, she emptied the bag onto the floor roughly, watching in triumph as page after page of blank paper floated across the almost empty parking lot, and Pace crumpled beside them. Of course, her smile faded as she witnessed the look on his own face…

The tears were coming faster now and he was sobbing, searching desperately for the precious evidence he'd devoted all of his efforts to hoarding. "Why," he moaned. "I thought she trusted me! Why didn't she give me the real documents! I could have looked after them! I swear I could have!"

"Pace, you can't honestly think she's on your side, can you?" Garcia pleaded with him. "Look what she's done! She abandoned you in the middle of the night with no money or anything, nothing but a bag full of _blank paper_. You've got to face up to this, Pace. She lied to you—!"

"No!" Pace cried, waving his arms hysterically, like a child having a tantrum. "You lied! You've always lied! You just want to get back to your cushy apartment with all of your stupid little ornaments! You don't care if these other people live or die! It's you who've always lied!! _You_!"

"What's going on out here?!" a great voice boomed as Pace clambered shakily to his feet, though big as he was, the motel manager stepped back as he recognised their faces from the television. "Shite, you're that girl from the news…" he murmured. Then, "Jesus, you're the guy… Then where's that other girl? Lucille—"

Upon hearing the name he'd thought they'd kept a secret from the public, Pace was back in the car like a bolt and pulling recklessly out of the car park, leaving its occupants to cringe as the tires screeched.

"Sir, I'm with the FBI. I'm requisitioning your vehicle," Garcia called over, voice wavering desperately as she approached. "I'll need you to direct me to it."

The manager seemed frozen for a second, but soon he was jogging toward a bright red station wagon and attempting to dislodge its key for a heavy ring of them. He gave up and thrust it at her whole as she clambered into the driver's seat.

"I'll need that back, Agent!" he cried as she swung out of the parking lot, and she made a mental note to try to keep it in one piece for him as she floored it after her captor.

It hardly occurred to her that she had absolutely no right, as a technical analyst, to requisition anything from anyone… There didn't seem to be anything else that she could do for the boy, after all.

-

"_Agent Morgan, we've got further reckless driving on the highway Hotchner just came off, do you want us to track it? It's a stretch, but the driver of the first car could be Pace, and the one behind it…" _the radio seemed to buzz uncertainly.

"What is it, Bruckner?" Morgan addressed the pilot of a second copter sharply.

"…_It's possible that Penelope Garcia may be the driver of the second car."_

"Track them. Interfere if necessary," Morgan answered immediately and without question. "Under no circumstances let anything happen to the driver of that second car!"

"_Agent Morgan, you realise, we haven't got a great view. It might not be her—"_

"_Protect_ my Baby Girl, Bruckner. Radio if you need assistance."

"_Understood, sir."_

Morgan hung up, ignoring the uncertain glance the co-pilot shot him. They had eyes on his girl… it was almost unbelievable. It was _amazing_! To think that he could hold her in his arms by the end of the night—! That she was _coming_—!

He fought the urge to tell the pilot to turn them around completely, assuring himself that she was cared for and that it was his job to ascertain the position of Hotch and Reid now, let alone their unsubs. He'd see them into the school first.

Speechless and drained, with mouth hanging open slightly, Morgan's heart seemed to become out of nowhere too heavy for his chest.

He floundered.

And not for the first time in recent days, he prayed for his baby girl.

-

By the time she reached the school the police were only minutes behind Lucille, who puffed and panted as she dragged Reid through the halls, stumbling as she went. She flailed around desperately, searching for an open classroom: Felix had only given her a copy of the key to the building, not the individual rooms, and without one she could be plainly seen all down the straight hall… Eventually, she found one open and cringed at the irony of it all.

She was standing in the useless old cupboard of a classroom that Felix had held AFLA meetings in. To her right was the spot on the wall where she'd doodled Joey Fickler's initials by hers in a loveheart the Valentine's Day before last. She hardly dared look at it, to see how far she had fallen. Her grip tightened on the gun and she tugged Reid against a wall, between two windows so as to be invisible from the outside. She leaned her back against it and held him before her like a shield, gun to his temple. Then she waited.

And she thought.

…Why was she here, anyway?

She wasn't even sure. It really seemed like there was no other place for her _to_ be at this stage in her life other than the place where it all began. She wasn't stupid. She knew there were police cars, FBI SUVs, even _helicopters_ coming for her, and she knew they wouldn't take well to her holding one of their own at gunpoint… There was even a part of her that wished she could be tried in _Virginia_ where her latest crimes had been committed, where she may have got the death penalty and been able to leave it at that… but here she was.

Helpless, despite her position. Alone at the end of her time.

Jesus, it was bloody _fitting_, wasn't it…

-

Tires screeched unpleasantly as Hotch drove up to the school, getting out of the car and waving off the officers on the scene as they fussed over his leg, which tended to look worse than it was all covered in blood. Instead, he directed them to the care of Felix Kiernan, cuffed in the back seat, and gathered the men around him in preparation to enter the building, not even considering the possibility of sitting this one out with his injuries. As they congregated around him, affixing their vests, Hotch delivered a brief profile, to which Rossi humbly contributed. The two men shared a meaningful glance, and then the order was given to storm the building.

"_First door clear,"_ Hotch mimed, glancing over at Rossi, who returned the same.

Slowly they advanced up the corridor.

-

"_Bruckner, what's going down? We're on our way," _came Morgan's voice over the radio, and Agent Bruckner straightened immediately.

"We're still in pursuit of the two vehicles which appear to be continuing aimlessly down the highway at dangerous speeds," Bruckner responded clearly. "We're closing the highway and setting up a roadblock across Area 2, 12 if you want to head up there."

"_Roger. We'll see you soon."_

Terminating contact, Bruckner had to smile. They hadn't even touched down yet and his senior agent was already in tears.

-

"He had this divine vision, Felix," Lucy whispered, at first to Reid, whom she still clutched to her front, and then to the officers at the door. "Mr Kiernan was my favourite teacher. I used to get so angry when people would say that he was strange, or made them feel awkward. I thought he was perfect… Strong, attractive, visionary… I even joined his stupid book club just to be near him, and when he suggested that he'd been brought here for this divine purpose… it was almost irresistible. To be _needed_ for something, created for a _purpose_… how gorgeous a feeling it was. And especially to be with him…

"I tried to talk intelligently with him on the subject, but he never seemed wholly interested. I realise now that that was because it was all an _excuse_." She smiled bitterly. "He just wanted to _kill people_. Don't get me wrong, I tried my best at that too, but it wasn't the same. I was never good enough. I couldn't… _strangle_ people with my bare hands, I wasn't strong like the others… That's why I chose Pace. He was weak and insignificant. When I was with Pace I was always the favourite. We were just completely incomparable…

"And then he gets cold feet. Of course he does, he's a wimp. But I can't set him straight. He _worships_ me, right? So I pretend to help him, and like a good boy he believes me. He never questioned a thing…

"And Felix— Felix gave me this grand task of keeping him from talking. It became my every mission. When he began to trust that FBI agent, I sowed the necessary seeds of doubt, and look where I am!" She laughed, chipper as anything. "I did everything he ever asked of me, and did it _perfectly…_ and I'm going to die a fool's death for it right here in this room."

The arm clutching Reid released suddenly and he stumbled away, just as she released the trigger.

Her limp corpse fell dramatically across his quavering form and he screamed, throwing it away from him, tears streaming down desperately down his cheeks as her blood wept across his skin. One officer knelt to check her pulse. He came away shaking his head. Reid had to be dragged from the scene.

-

The roadblock satisfactorily performed the function of blocking the road, when it came down to it, and it seemed as though, upon his plans being foiled, Pace simply lost all hope. He stumbled out of the car, collapsing immediately, and as Morgan neared he began to hear snatches of his tearful mutterings: He was crying that it was "all gone" and questioning why. "Why is it all _gone!_" he repeated over and over.

Honestly, the poor guy appeared to be absolutely heartbroken, and Morgan might have had the heart to pity something in him if Garcia hadn't run to him the way she had.

She didn't even seem to _notice_ Morgan, he realised bitterly, almost in a state of shock. She was out of the car like a bullet and at his side, at this _Pace's_ side, kneeling by him and cradling his head in her arms. She was crying too, Morgan realised and he was dumbfounded, utterly speechless. Giving the order to restrain Pace made him feel cruelly like a traitor, and when he addressed her she barely noticed.

Once again, he felt his heart breaking and he cursed himself for it. Why couldn't he just be happy she was all right? He _ought_ to be! In fact, he _was_! But there was something there besides that… He was _jealous_ of this _criminal_ and it sickened him! He had to turn away and, with a dark look upon his face as he stared across the empty highway, he called back to headquarters with the news.

-

"Emily?" JJ whispered uncertainly as she poked her head around the door.

Emily jolted upward at the familiar voice and immediately began to cough loud, breathless, _helpless_ coughs. JJ frowned sympathetically, and eased her into a sitting position, adjusting her pillows behind her.

"Don't speak," she warned, sitting down on the edge of Emily's bed. "It hurts like hell for the first while. You'll want some water."

"I've had some," Emily croaked, regardless of the warning.

JJ almost smiled. "I'm sorry," she apologised.

Emily gave her a curious look, but didn't try to speak again.

"Em, I was such a bitch to you when you thought we were going to die. I know I was, but I was just so desperate, you know…? And thank _God_, right?" she laughed almost as helplessly as Emily had just been coughing— as though the action might serve to sate some deep, tickling urge within her. "I just want you to know, that if I'd ever honestly thought we were going to die, I would have kissed you." She paused, and then blushed lightly, another laugh tickling her throat. "I _did_… And I was so incredibly guilty that you weren't conscious to feel it. I felt as though I'd failed you. I was too late. …It was the one thing you've ever really asked me for."

"It's okay," Emily croaked quietly. "You can make it up to me."

JJ quirked an eyebrow uncertainly, giving Emily's hand a light squeeze as she did so. "How?" she implored. "Just tell me how."

A cheeky grin floated over Emily's face and a sore laugh bubbled equally helplessly from her raw throat. "Fulfil your promise," she demanded quietly.

For a moment, a wave of confusion seemed to pass over JJ's face, darkening her eyes and creasing her brow, and Emily wondered if she might have forgotten.

That moment was brief.

"Jesus, Em. I will. _Gladly_!" She exclaimed, and with no further ado, she bent down and kissed her.

And kissed her.

And kissed her.

"_Emily, if we get out of here I'll never stop…"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear Faithful Readers:**

**So long without an update and when I **_**do**_** give you something, it's uncharacteristically short? I know, I'm the devil, aren't I? But I've been so busy all term! I'm wrapping this story up now, but there'll likely be an epilogue in the HOPEFULLY not too distant future. Thanks to those who have stayed with me writing this. I've really enjoyed it!**

**Becky**

_**-**_

_**Chapter 7**_

Waking up the next day felt to Morgan almost akin to watching the news the morning after a large-scale natural disaster. You know that the worst is over, and that aid crews are busy cleaning up the place and offering support even as you watch it unfolding on the television screen, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still just as big a mess in the light of day as it was when you went to sleep the night before. Nothing has really changed that much while you've been dreaming that it never happened…

It felt unnatural for him not to be with her, knowing what she'd experienced, and that her motel room was mere steps away… and yet, there was a barrier between them now, newly erected and intimidating in stature. She'd begun to feel concern and empathy for her captor and the man who had shot him, this _Pace_, while _he_ had spent the past few days conjuring his face to mind only to _curse_ it over and over again. He was the man who had destroyed his perfect happiness in her apartment that night: dancing with her, ready to confess his love to her… and how could he reconcile that? How could they come to discuss what had happened? Their opinions just seemed to be too different. He couldn't see it from her point of view!

On the other hand, he had to remember what he had promised Rossi in exchange for his bringing her home: he was supposed to tell her that he loved her.

He'd been considering that.

He knew Rossi wouldn't hold him to it. He'd been worked up and afraid, not knowing if she was alive or dead… But honestly, it was not as though the statement were any less true now than it had been when he'd made that promise, and certainly he didn't think Pace to be a threat to him in a romantic sense… He still _loved her_, after all! …And yet, he faltered. Where did he begin? He couldn't very well waltz into her room and say, "Heya, Baby Girl. I missed you lately. Where ya been?" No, there had to be a way to do things right… There had to be a way to _tell her_… And yet even as he was determining this, _she _had determined that no such omnipotent 'way' existed, and had gathered the courage to come right to his door and confront him at, Jesus Christ, 4 am—not that he'd actually been sleeping.

Good Lord, what he'd do for half her balls sometimes…

-

Garcia wasn't surprised to see Morgan open the door in the jeans he'd been wearing the day before, if notably _sans_ shirt (_con_ bandages). She herself had had to physically _drag_ herself into the shower, before changing back into her same old clothes, lacking anything else at all to wear, the night before. That in and of itself had hardly bothered her at the time, exhausted as she had been, but now, as he looked her up and down, she became painfully aware of his dried blood splattered on the pretty top and skirt she'd worn to dinner that night. She winced at his obvious notice of it.

"I had nothing…" she began to explain, but he waved off her excuses.

"…It's okay."

Garcia smiled slowly and followed Morgan into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Morgan then sat down on the edge of the bed and gestured for her to sit beside him. Cautiously, she did so, and blushing as her shoulder brushed his bare bicep, she was all of a sudden more than thankful for the dark.

"Did he— Did Pace treat you well enough?" Morgan asked quietly, trying very hard to empathise with her distress over the man's arrest. Garcia merely shrugged half-heartedly.

"Not something I could handle long-term…" she joked in a weak sort of way, raising an eyebrow at him. "Those pesky kidnappers really know how to spoil a good date!" Morgan chuckled softly, but she caught his seriousness beneath it all. "I'm fine, Derek. I wasn't treated badly by normal kidnapping standards." She said the word 'kidnapping' as though still struggling to believe it had really occurred. "And… I mean, yeah, there were times that I was scared, but…"

"I'm sorry."

Garcia stopped suddenly and shook her head, reaching for Morgan's hand, which she squeezed tight. "Don't be. It's not your fault," she assured him. "He had a gun, you didn't. I don't know what I would have done if you'd been hurt more badly, so don't be hardheaded, okay? All's well that ends well."

Morgan raised an eyebrow comically, a direct mirror of her own action, which caused her to laugh a little. "You call this ending _well_, Baby Girl?" he scoffed incredulously.

"And you don't?" she replied, equally so. "From where I stand, it could have ended a lot worse!" She shook off his consequent attempt at seriousness. "…You know, it might actually end very well indeed if you happened to be interested in finishing what we started that night?" she suggested quietly.

"You want to _dance_, baby girl?" he teased, and she laughed.

"I want you to tell me that you love me, like I know you were just about to when we were kissing in my apartment," Garcia clarified frankly, before her voice turned to a tease. "And then, when your poor stomach can handle it, I want to try what would inevitably have followed if we'd gone on as we were…"

Morgan grinned widely. "_I love you,_ Baby Girl."

A happy sigh escaped Garcia at that. "Oh, my chocolate Adonis," she whispered fondly. "It was all so worth it to hear you say that! I love you too."

-

JJ smiled as she hung up her phone (which she had had to fight to be allowed to bring into the ward), and cast an affectionate glance across Emily's still form. "They're all okay, Em," she whispered, smoothing a hand over her pale forehead, brushing away the dark strands of hair that marred it.

"That's good," Emily replied quietly, surprising JJ as she opened her eyes. "Penelope?"

"Virtually unharmed," JJ told her. "I was just on the phone to Morgan."

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know if any of it's quite sunk in yet. He sounded almost dazed," said JJ. "Hotch is still in a hospital over in Virginia, but he should be fine. Rossi is staying with him, and Penelope and Morgan are flying back this afternoon."

Emily paused momentarily to take this in, her breath coming more quickly than usual, but less noisily than it had been. "How soon will we be out of here?"

"You'll have at least another 3 days on and off the oxygen in here, and then they'll probably send you home with some sort of inhaler," JJ replied slowly.

"What about you?" asked Emily, realising the distinction immediately.

JJ frowned guiltily. "I've already been cleared to go," she admitted, but far from being jealous or angry, Emily smiled, relieved.

"Good," she said honestly.

"I'm sorry."

"_Why?_"

JJ flustered anxiously. "I didn't know you'd be worse off for being the one hammering the window. If I _had_ known... obviously I would have done it. I mean, in retrospect it's so _obvious, _but…"

"Thank God you didn't know," Emily responded plainly. "…I'm stronger than you anyway."

JJ frowned, and then laughed. "You're right. I'm weak," she agreed readily. "I'm glad you're all right, Em."

"So am I," Emily replied, smiling as JJ leaned down to kiss her. "I never want to know what I'd do without you."

JJ found herself startled by the sudden intimacy of that statement, but managed to respond regardless. "Why would I ever leave you?"

Emily appeared to notice the hesitation. "Jayj, are you…? You know, I never expected…" she trailed off uncertainly, then launched back in. "If you feel like you _owe_ me for this or something, then don't. I don't expect _anything_ from you. Who could hold someone accountable for a promise they made under fear of death?"

"That's not—!"

"Don't lie to me, JJ."

For almost a minute, JJ could fathom no response. "Em…" she said quietly, eventually. "Okay… I'm not going to pretend like I'm not deeply attracted to you, because I _am,_ but…"

"It's okay," Emily replied, breathing out slowly. "I know that I've forced this on you. I'm sorry."

"_No_, you didn't, Em! …And, _Jesus_, it's not even that I don't love you. It's just that, well… We almost died only days ago, you know? I don't think this is the time to be making decisions like this. I mean, we've been kissing, and I like that, it reassures me that you're really here and okay… but I need to know that there's something else behind that desire. I've been _thinking_, Em, and… well, what I think is that we should wait."

"…Jayj, don't do that to me. Don't let me hope if there _is_ no hope."

"But there is!" JJ protested honestly. "I just need to understand this better. I don't usually _do_ things like this… I'm not _gay_, Em! It's just _you_. And I'm struggling with the idea that I seem to be designed for you. That I can't realistically see myself with any other person."

"_I'm _struggling not to lean up and kiss you," Emily replied bluntly, frowning at JJ's blush. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, or rush your decision out of any sort of selfish impatience, Jayj. It's just that if you don't tell me 'no' soon, I don't know if I can go back to being just friends with you. My mind appears to be cementing this idea of you and I as something more and… I really don't want things to become awkward between us. In whatever capacity you want me, I'll be there. I _need_ to be with you… but if you're going to tell me to back off, we need to set some boundaries quickly."

"Or we could just see how it goes?"

Emily cringed at the suggestion.

"…Em?"

"I can't be so casual about this. I can't," she said firmly, and then she sighed. "I never meant to tell you. I shouldn't have…"

All at once JJ felt her heart break. "No, don't say that," she begged. "I'm _glad_ you did."

Emily brought her eyes up to JJ's. "Why?" The eye contact was firm, serious.

JJ flustered. "Because—! Because we don't _have_ secrets, Em! I mean… Well, I don't _want_ us to."

Emily sighed quietly.

"Em, don't be like that, it's true!" JJ protested. A sceptical eyebrow raised, causing JJ to shift uncomfortably. "What? Em? Tell me what's wrong!"

"When I was _six_ I killed a small bird and instead of sending me to a psychiatrist, my mother sent me to my priest who told me I had the devil in me and I needed to devote myself to repentance, even though she knew well that it was an early warning sign of sociopathy. I just did it for attention. When I was _twelve_ I lost my virginity at a party because I thought that everyone else thought it was _cool_. They just thought I was a slut. When I was _fifteen_ I aborted a baby and was excommunicated from my church—"

"Emily, this is _ridiculous_! _Stop_ trying to shock me!" JJ cried, silencing her. "Do you think I'm ever going to think any less of you because of what happened in the past? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not _like that_!"

"I've wanted you since I met you," Emily finished determinedly. "_That_ makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? The first time we met I stared at your ass as you walked away. I thought you were gorgeous. …You were just feeling sorry for me, because Hotch was being an asshole." She smiled weakly.

JJ didn't deny it. "You really thought that?" Emily nodded silently. "…And, uh… When did you start loving me? Do you know? Is that a weird question?"

"Can _you_ think of a moment?"

JJ was certainly awkward now, but she held Emily's gaze firmly, searchingly. Eventually she gave a slight nod. "I don't know," she said contradictorily. "Maybe? I thought… I thought that maybe something was different after Reid was taken. I really needed you then. Maybe it was just my emotions getting the better of me…"

"No," Emily protested. "That's what I thought of too. Could we perhaps be thinking about the same thing? And therefore, maybe be feeling the same thing too?"

JJ shied from the logic. "How did you _know_?" she asked uncertainly, leaning forward a little. "I mean, where are the flashing lights? Fireworks?"

Emily also leaned forward, placing her cheek against JJ's lightly and sliding her opposite hand against her throat. Finding the other woman's pulse, she brought JJ's hand up to that spot. "Love may make us blind, but you can feel them, can't you? The fireworks drumming under your skin…"

JJ tugged her hand away from her own neck and immediately sought out Emily's pulse point, pressing two fingers to it firmly, desperately. Emily breathed in deeply and JJ allowed herself to become enfolded within Emily's soft, unassuming embrace, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. "I hope I'm in love with you too…" she said, so quietly that Emily almost didn't hear…

"I seem to have missed quite a lot," came Garcia's familiarly cheeky tone, causing both women to look up quickly.

"Penelope!" both exclaimed, ignoring the dark man standing behind her, a hand resting protectively on her back.

Emily frowned at Morgan. "You said you wouldn't be back 'til the afternoon."

"I wanted to surprise you," he laughed, grinning widely.

"Pen, are you okay?" JJ gushed, standing and hurrying over to hug her dear friend. "We've been so worried!"

"It's been hard not to think the worst," Emily admitted quietly from her bed.

It hardly took a moment, but Garcia dissolved immediately into tears at that. "What about you! I can't believe she did that! You guys! I promise I didn't know, or I would have done something! I would have found some way to come home, no matter what!!"

Emily smiled wryly, shaking her head as Garcia leaned down to hug her tearfully. "We're fine. Really."

"You _sound_ awful, both of you," she sniffled.

Emily and JJ shared an amused glance and shrugged simultaneously. They hardly noticed it anymore.

"We're fine," JJ repeated. "Emily's only got a few more days in here." Suddenly something seemed to strike her. "Emily! I wasn't supposed to keep you talking so long! You should have stopped me!"

Garcia laughed (or maybe sobbed) aloud at the indignant manner in which this was spoken. "More protective even than usual it seems, Jayj," she teased, sniffing quietly. "Hotch told me you guys were getting pretty cosy over here…"

"Hotch!" JJ exclaimed, glancing at Emily guiltily. "I can't believe it!"

"Don't worry," Garcia assured her with a wink as she glanced up at Morgan. "We've been getting pretty cosy ourselves..."

"Wow! Don't hurt yourself, Morgan!" Emily immediately teased in reply. "Still pretty fragile, aren't you? Might not be able to keep up with our Pen…"

Morgan scoffed loudly, causing Emily and JJ to laugh.

"You take care of him," JJ advised, grinning.

"Of course I will."

"So, you and Emily, JJ?" Morgan clarified, shaking his head. "Garcia tells me it's always been obvious, but I never really pegged…"

JJ blushed darkly, and Emily saved her from answering firmly. "We're considering it," she replied, settling a reassuring hand over JJ's on the bed. "We'll…" she paused, before reluctantly repeating JJ's words: "We'll see how it goes."

JJ herself frowned here. It sounded unfair from Emily's mouth. She squeezed her hand tight, drawing her confused attention.

"Jayj?"

JJ leaned over and kissed her soundly, not giving her time to respond before pulling away. It took a few moments for the smile to spread across Emily's face, but when it did, it was as bright as she'd ever seen it. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"_How_ did you never see that?" Garcia erupted suddenly to Morgan. "It's so clear! Look at them!"

When JJ and Emily turned to Morgan he was nodding, a large grin on his face.

"You're right, you're right, of course," he acknowledged. "Very cute."

JJ appeared embarrassed but Emily merely looked smug. "So I keep telling her," she agreed lightly.

A nurse at the door interrupted them. "I'll need 30 minutes with the patient if you could all be convinced to take a coffee break…?"

"Of course," Garcia agreed, taking Morgan's hand as he looked likely to protest. "Jayj…?"

Emily had reached out and taken her hand. "Could she stay?" she asked sweetly. "I'd like my very important person to always be with me."

The nurse looked sceptical.

"I'll just go for a few minutes," JJ asserted. "I'll find out how the case wrapped up and come tell you, okay?"

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," Emily sighed, causing JJ to laugh.

"Melodramatist."

"Melodramatist madly in love with you."

JJ shook her head, smiling. "30 minutes," she said, and left with the others.

"Cute girlfriend you have there," the nurse commented as she left. "Fiery. A real keeper."

Emily nodded happily, holding her arm up for the nurse to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. "I'll keep her as long as she lets me," she agreed.

The nurse smiled, giving her arm a pat as she pulled the cuff tight. "I wouldn't worry, love," she assured her. "That one doesn't look like she's going anywhere."


End file.
